


A Past's Affair

by Jillie_chan



Category: NCIS, The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Gen, Illya and Napoleon are really more talked about, Leans heavily towards NCIS
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-19
Updated: 2016-11-21
Packaged: 2018-08-16 01:38:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 21,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8081650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jillie_chan/pseuds/Jillie_chan
Summary: "Doctor Mallard, you're being investigated for espionage performed under the name Illya Kuryakin."





	1. The Need to Check

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I hold neither the copyright to NCIS or Man From Uncle. I hold only the copyright to this fanfiction.

_Needless to say Ducky looked fairly alarmed and bewildered as the FBI agent handcuffed him._

As far as mornings at NCIS went it was fairly average, the only difference as he made his way down to the morgue was that most people Ducky passed today offered a polite “Happy Birthday,” instead of the standard “good morning”.

“Good morning and happy birthday, Doctor Mallard,” Palmer said as soon as the sliding doors let Ducky into the morgue.

“Ah, yes, thank you, Mr. Palmer. You know, I’ve had quite a few people wish me well today. It is either a sign that I have been here long enough for that to become common knowledge or Abigail has been making the rounds,” Ducky noted, setting his briefcase on his desk before he started to shrug off his coat.

“Or that cat let it out of the bag,” Palmer joked, gesturing to the autopsy table behind them.

“Cat?” Ducky asked, turning to see a giant stuffed tiger lounging on the table closest to the door. It was large enough that it took up the entire table, much better quality than some carnival games that gave out toys that size and the tiger was correctly colored, positioned like one would lay down in real life.

“Oh, Good Lord,” Ducky pinched the bridge of his nose as he realized who it came from.

“I already ran an X-ray over it and there is nothing but stuffing ‘n’ stitches, Doctor,” Palmer said, sounding far too pleased with himself.

Ducky looked at his assistant rather bemused. “You felt the need to X-ray my birthday present?”

“Well, I-I was worried that he might have a bomb or something. Plus if he turned out to _be_ a real tiger, I mean not like a live tiger, you know like a-” Palmer caught Ducky’s flat look. “Please don’t be mad or start wrapping my presents in lead paper.”

Ducky cracked and laughed as he moved to investigate what his friend had sent. “I appreciate the precaution, Mr. Palmer. Do hand me one of my spare bow ties from my desk.”

“Right away, Doctor,” Palmer said, opening the second drawer down on the desk. “It’s just, you know, I was just thinking about the Trojan horse and I didn’t want to take any chances...”

“Hm, yes, it is sad though as you felt the need to examine him. Such is the world we live in. Ah, thank you, Mr. Palmer.” Ducky took the blue tie and expertly wrapped it around the plush toy’s neck making it look quite dapper in his opinion. He took a moment to admire his work and scratch the toy behind its ears.

“Oh, he came with a card too.” Palmer said, handing over a blue envelope.

The card had a teapot on the front with a packet of Twinning’s tea sticking out of the pot, the words “Happy Birthday” in computer cursive on the front. Ducky opened the card to see very familiar hand writing say _“Ducky, Happy Birthday, I’m in town so dinner’s on me, Albert_ ” as well as the phone and room number to the hotel he was staying in.

“So who’s it from?” Palmer asked, trying to appear as though he didn’t want to look over Ducky’s shoulder.

“He’s from Albert,” Ducky said, gesturing with the card, “Best move him before we end up needing the table.”

“Right,” Palmer said, grabbing the toy around the middle. “Albert, Albert, isn’t he your cousin?”

“Second-cousin, we shared a Great-Uncle. Good man, died of old age, sadly,” Ducky reminisced, setting the card on his desk.

“What, Albert?” Palmer asked fairly alarmed at the idea of Ducky receiving a present from a dead man.

“ _No_ , the Great-Uncle was the one who died.”

“Oh, thank goodness,” Palmer sighed in relief, putting the tiger down in an as-out-of-the-way-as-possible corner. “I mean, I’m sorry about your Uncle, I didn’t mean to make it sound like-”

“Who’s first on the agenda, Mr. Palmer?” Ducky asked before Palmer could spiral out of control.

“Oh, um, we have the Petty Officer Linn with the gunshot wound, for Agent Gibbs. Uh, Lieutenant Adams of a suspected heart attack for Agent Sawyer, and Sargent Myers who’s cause of death is undetermined for Agent Christopher. And just the paper work for Commander Riker, Captain Archer, and Petty Officer Paris so they can go rest in peace.”

“Is that all? Hm, well a slow day every now and then never hurt anyone,” Ducky said.

“Yep, that’s it, barring someone dying and we get called in,” Palmer noted.

They both looked at each other and then slowly at the phone as if expecting it to ring. A moment passed and they both breathed a sigh of relief.

“If you’d be so kind as to pull Lieutenant Adams out, we’ll get him out of here as quickly as possi-” The phone cut Ducky off, causing him to close his eyes in resigned exasperation.

Palmer winched. “Too soon?”

Ducky gave Palmer a look as he answered the phone, scrawling down the address of where the victim was. Ducky dropped the phone back on to the desk handing his assistant the address. “Too soon, Mr. Palmer.”

* * *

 

“All I’m asking guys, is what did you get him?” Tony whined, snapping a picture of the dead body at the bottom of the building.

“Tony, his birthday is _today_ , and you are only now asking us,” Ziva snapped.

“That’s cause he forgot,” McGee intoned, sketching the crime scene.

“I did not _forget_ , it just slipped my mind,” Tony said.

“So you didn’t get him anything?” Ziva asked, indignant on Ducky’s behalf.

“No, I mean, yes. Yes, I got him something, something cool, something that he likes-”

“Something that is not our idea,” McGee said, refusing the bait.

“Of course it’s not _your_ idea, it’s _my_ present to him,” Tony said with a laugh then looked them both in the eye seriously. “So what did you get him?”

“Don’t tell him, Ziva,” McGee warned.

“Oh, for crying out loud, just get the man some tea!” Ziva said with a roll of her eyes.

“Tea, how stereotypical is that? Get the British guy tea.” Tony scoffed.

“Well, I’ve always enjoyed a good cuppa. Though please avoid most bagged teas, they tend to be very low quality as they are made from the left overs of what has been used to blend loose teas,” Ducky said, coming up from behind Tony.

Tony froze for a moment before plastering on a big grin. “You don’t say. We were just talking about what we got you for your birthday. And they think I’m so predictable as to get you tea.”

Ducky raised an eyebrow. “Oh, and what did you get me?”

“I-” Tony froze, his smile fixed. “Drinks on me. You and two friends of your choosing.”

“Ah, thank you, Anthony, Albert will be delighted to hear,” Ducky patted Tony on the shoulder and knelt down next to the body.

Tony stared at where Ducky had been. “Albert? As in Cousin Albert?”

“Isn’t he the man that Tony swore could drink Godzilla under the bench?” Ziva asked.

“It’s ‘drink under the table’ and yes, he’s in town,” Palmer said brightly as Ducky looked over the woman lying on the ground.

“You my dear had quite the tumble,” Ducky gazed up at the building.

“Witnesses say Ensign Kimberly Jones jumped from roof which is about five stories up,” Ziva answered the unspoken question.

“Yes, that matches with the wounds, both of her arms are shattered from where she instinctively tried to brace herself,” Ducky said, holding his arms defensively.

“Was she pushed or jumped, Duck?”

“Hm, impossible to say. Oh, and DiNozzo has kindly offered to pay for drinks, Jethro.”

Tony squeezed his eyes shut as he realized that he was covering Gibbs’ drinks as well.

“Next year, give him your stapler, DiNozzo,” Gibbs suggested.

“I’ll keep that in mind, Boss,” Tony said.

“I am inclined to say the poor thing jumped however,” Ducky said, rolling up Ensign Jones’ sleeve. “She has wounds consist with self-harm.”

“Won’t that have shown up on her psych eval?” McGee asked.

“It depends on how well she hid it. Also these wounds are recent I’d say that it’s only been, oh, three, four months since she started, depending on where her last psych evalve was it might not have been an issue. I’ll have Abby run a tox-screen when we get her back.”

“Huh, what’s Agent Fornell doing here?” McGee asked, looking across the street.

Everyone glanced up to see Fornell and another agent getting out of a black sedan.

“I’ll go see,” Gibbs said, giving his team a quick glance and they all went back to what they were supposed to be doing.

Gibbs’ gut gave an unpleasant twitch as Fornell and his unknown blonde partner walked toward him, their eyes sweeping the street. Something was going to happen and Gibbs wasn’t going to like it.

“Fornell, to what do I owe the pleasure?” Gibbs asked.

“Is Donald Mallard here?” The Unknown demanded her eyes narrowed.

Gibbs glanced behind him to see Ducky and Palmer running through their standard field tests. The Unknown mistook his glance for permission and moved to contaminate his crime scene before Gibbs stepped right in her path.

“Nah, ah, not until you tell me what you need with Doctor Mallard,” Gibbs said, effectively blocking her. Gibbs looked at Fornell who gave an apologetic nod at Unknown; effectively tell him that she was in charge.

“Our business is with Mallard and none of your concern,” Unknown said.

“If it concerns, _Doctor_ Mallard, it does to Agent Gibbs,” Fornell said, glaring at his own partner.

Gibbs gave Fornell a quick smile, glad to see that whatever was going on Fornell was at least as much on his side as he could be.

“It is on a need-to-know basis and that is all I can say at the moment,” Unknown said, “Now get Mallard over here.”

“If you want me to get _Doctor_ Mallard, you’re going to have to give me a little more than that,” Gibbs said, his gut getting tighter in warning.

“Then I’ll arrest you,” Unknown said.

“On what grounds?” Gibbs said, planting his feet glaring her in the eye.

She didn’t flinch, he’d give her that much. “Obstruction.”

“The only reason I’m obstructing you is because you’re not giving me a reason.”

“Gibbs, trust me, it’s a good reason,” Fornell warned, his eyes flickering past Gibbs shoulder.

“Is everything alright?” Ducky asked.

Gibbs gritted his teeth as he glanced over his friend’s head; the team was very pointedly _not_ _looking_ as DiNozzo helped Palmer load up the body.

“Donald Mallard?” Unknown demanded.

Ducky looked at her warily but he nodded. “Yes.”

“Hands behind your back,” she said, pulling out a pair of handcuffs.

Ducky took a step back. “Why?”

Fornell stepped forward, shooting Gibbs a look as Unknown circled around Ducky. “Doctor Mallard, you’re being investigated for espionage performed under the name Illya Kuryakin.”

Needless to say Ducky looked fairly alarmed and bewildered as the FBI agent handcuffed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Citations: 
> 
> Tiger plush headcannon taken from napoleon and illya. tumblr. com
> 
> Birthday card: roses -and- teacups collections/ kimberly- shaw- tea- greeting- cards


	2. What have we got?

_Gibbs looked up at the plasma his eyes far away as he looked at Ducky’s photo, half covered by Kuryakin’s._

Tobias looked through the one-way mirror at Ducky, who was sitting quietly as he waited to be questioned.  “How long are you going to let him sit for?”

“Long enough to make him worried. What do you know about him?” the agent in charge, Kelly DeForest asked.

Fornell shifted his attention to her. “I know enough that he’s not going to get worried anytime soon. And that your treatment of him when we picked him up put Gibbs in a bad mood.”

“I’m not interested in Gibbs; I’m interested in Mallard,” DeForest said, opening a file.

Tobias noticed that the file was thin for something that was supposed to be about a Russian spy from fifty years ago. “I didn’t say you should be interested in Gibbs, just that you put him in a bad mood.”

“Would you rather take over this case, Agent Fornell?” DeForest asked, looking at him with a raised eyebrow.

Fornell grimaced at the low blow as he remembered how the higher ups threatened to force him to go on vacation if he took another case from an agent that wasn’t specifically assigned to him.

After a moment, she turned her attention back to the file looking at a page almost completely covered in censored words. “What do you know about Mallard?”

“He knows his stuff,” Tobias said, thinking back to all the times he worked with Ducky. “I sometimes think that he missed his calling as a history teacher or something. But if he really is this Russian spy, then I guess I know a lot less than I thought I did."

* * *

 

“Explain to me why you let the FBI has taken our Medical Examiner into custody,” Vance demanded, glaring from behind his desk.

“I didn’t _let_ them take Ducky,” Gibbs said shortly.

“You didn’t stop them either,” Vance said. “Which Agent DeForset will take as evidence that you believe the claim.”

“That Ducky’s spying for the Russians?” Gibbs scoffed.

“That Kuryakin did and that he became Doctor Mallard.”

Gibbs rolled his eyes. “Leon, when Kuryakin was active there was a Soviet Union. USSR’s long gone.”

“But their ghost still exists,” Vance pointed out. “A ghost that a lot of people worry is still very much part of the Russian government. I’ve read your file, Agent Gibbs. That you spent six months in the USSR; if anyone knows how ruthless they were it should be you.”

**_This was not part of the plan. Gibbs shot Jenny a look as the KGB operative told them to follow him._ **

**_Just go where they say, and do what they want. If they didn’t want the microfilm being found following orders was the only way that they could get out of this. For now._ **

**_The operative lead them to a room. A big wig behind the desk gestured for them to stand over by the wall; window dressing. They were there to be window dressing to intimidate someone._ **

**_There was a man tied to a chair off to the side, a sack over his head. Jenny looked stern, not happy at the turn of events._ **

**_Another man in a Soviet Uniform entered the room, his eyes taking in what was going on._ **

**_The big wig laid a loaded gun on the desk. “Shoot that man.”_ **

**_The Uniform took the gun and turned to the tied up man, his eyes widening as a KGB ripped off the bag._ **

**_A Loyalty Test._ **

“Yeah, I do,” Gibbs admitted.

“Then you know how the FBI will take this. They’ll dig up our yard to find something that isn’t there. So until this blows over, your investigations are suspended. After all, Doctor Mallard is the ME on all your cases; don’t want to give the FBI even more ammo,” Vance said.

“You’ve suspended his clearance?” Gibbs demanded.

“Had to,” Vance said.

“Damn it, Leon, if you don’t want to give the FBI more ammo, stand by him.”

“Like you did?” Vance asked.

“Like I am,” Gibbs corrected. “You want to know what I learned from the USSR?” he said, stalking to the door. “That loyalty is the strongest thing in the world.”

“And Doctor Mallard has earned your loyalty?”

“Yes.”

“Even if he turns out to be Kuryakin?” Vance asked.

Gibbs shot Vance a look and didn’t dignify the question with a response.

* * *

 

“I just heard; Ducky’s been arrested? For what?” Abby said, hurrying into the bullpen. “Where’s Palmer? No, where’s _Gibbs_? What happened? Does anyone know how much bail is?”

“Abby, breathe!” Ziva said.

“I can’t be bothered by breathing! Ducky’s in trouble! And not in trouble like medical trouble where all I can do is stand on the side and hope he gets better but like real arrested trouble where forensics can save him like it did with Tony and I need to get to work analyzing or at least going around with a jar collecting bail-”

“Abby, breathe and we will tell you what we know!” Tony snapped.

Abby took several theatrical gasps of air, looking calmer with each breath.

“Are you good?” Tony asked.

“Yes,” Abby said, more calmly.

“Alright so, here’s what we’ve got: Ducky has been arrested under suspicion of being a Russian spy named ‘Eli Carry-on-kin’.” Tony said pulling up the picture from Ducky’s NCIS file side by side of a picture from the Sixties of a younger blond man, clearly from a passport as the writing that was not quite cropped out was in Russian.

“Illya Kuryakin,” Ziva corrected, her tone short, “rumor says he performed hundreds of successful ops all of which are still top secret to this day! The man is a legend.”

“Can’t be a very good spy if he’s a legend,” McGee noted, from his desk.

“James Bond is a legend and no one questions his credentials,” Tony countered.

“James Bond is fictional and yes, they do.” McGee pointed out.

“No one asked you, Probie,” Tony said.

“He is a legend because there are only five confirmed photos of Kuryakin out of decades of work,” Ziva said, getting the conversation back on track by taking the remote from Tony and pushing a button to pull up four new pictures.

“Wow, these are garbage.” Abby said, wrinkling her nose at the photos all of which had some kind of visual noise on them, be it scratches or snow.

The first one was the only one in color; Kuryakin sitting behind the wheel of a Royals Royce, the right half his face hidden in shadow, his attention on something unseen; the amount of car in the shot showing that it had been taken by some long lenses.

The second picture was a profile, up close and from behind. A crowd of people, mostly young women with sixties hair styles, gathered around something unseen, Kuryakin’s attention on it. No one’s faces were fully shown at all.

Another long lensed photo was third showing the Russian in shorts and a polo shirt crouched down on the end of a dock, his left hand holding a rope while the right fiddling with something just over the edge. He had looked up but not at the picture taker, more likely he had been scanning the roof tops or windows and the photographer had been lucky.

The last had Kuryakin looking at the camera almost surprised that it was there, his hand half raised in a fist. He was in a tuxedo, though the background was of stripped canvas and there were poles as though he was in a tent of some kind. Behind Kuryakin was a man with his back was to the camera, who also in a tux holding what looked like an award so perhaps Kuryakin was playing bodyguard at some outdoor charity event.

“You know in that last one he looks kind of like Mark Hamill,” Tony said, tilting his head to the side. “Imagine if Ducky really was this guy:” Tony dropped his voice into an impression of Alec Guinness, “’Carry-on-kin’ Now that’s a name I haven’t heard since-oh before you were born.”

“That’s not funny, Tony! Why does the FBI think that Ducky is him?” Abby demanded pointing at the screen.

McGee spoke up, moving so he could look at the plasma too. “Apparently, the FBI ran facial recognition on the pictures and Ducky came back as a match.”

“By how much?” Abby asked.

“By enough,” Tony said, still looking at the pictures.

“No, until we _know_ the number; that is suspect. We have to re-run it! And find a control picture of one where Ducky was younger and run it against that!”

“Way ahead of you, Abby,” Palmer said, barely missing the wall of Ziva’s cubical as he rounded the corner. “I ran over to Doctor Mallard’s house and got this before the FBI showed up and threatened to arrest me.”

“They threatened to arrest you?” Ziva repeated, as Palmer handed Abby an envelope.

“On what grounds?” McGee asked.

“Something about conspiracy and maybe tampering with evidence, which I did not do, because one: Doctor Mallard’s house is not a crime scene and two: he did nothing wrong so I’m not an accomplice,” Palmer smiled brightly and waved a hand showing he wasn’t worried.

The three field agents _looked_ at him.

Palmer’s smile dimmed. “Right?”

“Did you at least wear gloves?” Tony asked.

“I-”

“Jimmy, this is perfect!” Abby said, enveloping the now worried assistant ME in a hug and then stepped back to show the others.

It was a black and white picture, much better than any of the other’s on the screen; Ducky was reading what looked like a German newspaper. He was well dressed, leaning against a pole on a train platform, the tracks behind him, looking at the camera like someone had call his name and he looked up in time for his picture to be snapped. It was classic Ducky, right down to the round glasses and hat.

“Wow, Ducky was quite the looker,” McGee said, raising an eyebrow.

“What do you mean ‘was’, I still find him quite attractive,” Ziva said, with a small smirk.

“It’s from a day-trip he took to Germany back in 1962,” Palmer said, still looking worried.

“And you know this how?” McGee asked.

“Uh, it’s written on the back of the picture,” Palmer pointed at the back. “So…could they arrest me-?”

“Huh, Ducky looks kinda like Lieutenant-Commander Ashely-Pitt,” Everyone looked at Tony blankly. “You know the guy who figured out how to get the dirt out of the tunnels in _The_ _Great Escape_.” No one made a move of understanding. “ _The_ _Great Escape_ released in 1963, about the POWs who dug a tunnel out of a German Prison camp?” Everyone shook their heads slightly. “OH, come on! It’s a classic! You’ve at least know of the scene that they reference everywhere where Steve McQueen is bouncing a baseball against the wall of the ‘cooler’!” Tony pantomimed throwing a baseball.

“I’m more interested in getting our ME out of the FBI’s ‘cooler’,” Gibbs said, gliding by the group with a fresh cup of coffee in his hands.

“Us too, Boss,” Tony said, letting his hand drop.

“Good, because until Doctor Mallard is cleared, Vance has all of our other investigations put on hold.”

“Gibbs, do you know how much bail is?” Abby demanded.

“Nope. No bail; because he’s not under arrest,” Gibbs explained.

“Then why are all of our cases suspended?” McGee asked.

“Because, McGee, the FBI takes espionage very seriously,” Gibbs replied, and then _looked_ at the group.

“Right, I’ll call my contacts and see what I can find out about Kuryakin,” Ziva said.

“Dibs on Ducky’s old friends and colleges,” Tony said, nearly leaping over his own desk.

“I’ll get his papers, passport, immigration,” McGee said, typing on his computer before he even sat down.

“Re-running facial recognition on Ducky’s pics!” Abby said, nearly running to the elevator.

“And I’ll…” Palmer looked around confused. “I-I don’t know what, what to do.”

“Palmer,” Gibbs said, looking back up at the Assistant ME, “Why don’t you go get a jump start on you and Doctor Mallard’s reports.”

“Right,” Palmer nodded running after Abby before the elevator closed.

The elevator dinged signaling its descent and Tony slapped his forehead. “Should have asked Palmer for a list of Ducky’s friends.” He looked over to Gibbs desk. “Hey boss, you’re his friend, how’d you meet Ducky?”

**_There was a dead naval officer on the floor and the new ME had already arrived, rattling off numbers and notes to the assistant. Gibbs was a little surprised by the British accent._ **

**_“What do you got?” Gibbs asked, towering over the crime._ **

**_The ME looked up, pushing his glasses up with the back of his hand._ **

**_The two looked at each other for a moment, each weighing the other before professionalism won out and Doctor Mallard explained what he had at the moment._ **

“Same way I meet everyone it seems: On the job,” Gibbs looked up at the plasma his eyes far away as he looked at Ducky’s photo, half covered by Kuryakin’s.

 

* * *

Pictures in order they appear, found on Rose of Pollux's tumblr

Last picture found on Saniir's tumblr 


	3. Did We Mess Up?

_Abby and Palmer looked at each other in growing horror as they realized what that meant._

Ducky sat at the table in the FBI interrogation room twiddling his thumbs as he glanced around. It wasn’t too dis-similar to the one in NCIS; same one-way mirror, walls that offered little to look at, basic table and chairs, cameras watching him, even the waiting for long periods of time that Jethro preferred. Then again the core concept of integration was the same everywhere…unless of course it was being preformed by Marcin Jerek…

The door swung open violently and Ducky didn’t outwardly twitch as he was pulled out his dark thoughts, instead waiting a moment for the Agent who had handcuffed him to process that he was unaffected before easily rising to his feet. “We were never introduced, I’m Doctor Donald Mallard, but I’m sure you already knew that. I am afraid, however, that I never caught your name, Agent…?”

She was blonde, her hair pulled back into a tight bun, though her roots were gray as though she hadn’t scheduled an appointment to get her hair touched up. Given her bone structure and the stress lines around her eyes, he would put her around or a little under Tony’s age. She stepped to her side of the table slapping her folder onto it. Ducky raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.

“Sit down,” she said.

Ducky stood firm, glancing at Agent Fornell who quietly walked into the room, shutting the door behind him. Slowly Ducky sank back into his seat. “I would still like to know your name.”

She made no move to answer him, instead flipping open the file, tilting it up and making a show of looking at papers like she was reading a book. “Have you ever been to France, Mr. Mallard?”

“I have, back in my youth I used to travel all sorts of places. Not many people realize how small Europe really is. Going to Paris from London is as easy as going to New York from DC here the United States. Why I remember this one time I was in Rome with a friend when he ran into an old girlfriend. We missed the flight home and we ended up in Albania.” Ducky smiled at the memory, “We were in so much trouble when we finally made it back.”

“Why did you end up in Albania?” She asked, closing her folder.

“Well you see Agent…?” Ducky said giving her an inquiring look.

“DeForest,” Fornell said.

The Agent, DeForest, gave Fornell an annoyed look, which Fornell gave a disbelieving double eyebrow raise in return.

“Well you see Agent DeForest,” Ducky said, pretending not to notice the exchange, “the girl that we had run into lived in Albania at the time and she wanted my friend to help her with something. And I could tell that he was going to get himself in trouble so, regrettably, I ended up tagging along.”

“What kind of trouble?” DeForest asked.

“Oh, nothing that couldn’t be fixed by talking to some locals in a bar, they just needed some outside help to sort it out.”

“Is that so?” she asked, “than why was it regrettable?”

“Because, _she_ was married at the time, to someone not my friend, and he was practically still head over heels for the girl. I felt sorry for him when he finally realized how in love with her husband she was.”

“Is that all?” DeForest asked.

“Well, yes. Why? Were you expecting me to say that I jumped out of a tree like Errol Flynn and literally beat the trousers off of two Albanian police officers?” Ducky asked, amused.

“Did you?” Fornell asked intrigued. Ducky looked at him over the top of his glasses while DeForest gave him another annoyed look. Fornell shrugged. “Just curious.”

Ducky turned his attention back to DeForest and leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table. “Excuse me, but what do misspent holidays in my youth have to do with an FBI investigation?”

“I have a question,” DeForest said also leaning forward.  “The friend from your story, was his name Napoleon Solo?”

* * *

 

“I just gave you his social security number…No, I don’t know his driver’s license number,” McGee said into the phone, “Okay, where do I find that?”

“Okay, thank you,” Tony said, before dropping the phone back onto its cradle. “’Nother dead end, Doctor Doyle didn’t meet Ducky until he was working at NCIS. I’m starting to think he didn’t have any friends before becoming a doctor.”

Gibbs didn’t look up from his computer. “Keep trying, DiNozzo. Ziva?”

“I have found that Illya Nockovitch Kuryakin is actually Ukrainian, though as that was part of the Soviet Union at fifty years ago it hardly matters. He was born in Kiev, joined the Russian Navy at sixteen, and then transferred into the KGB when he was twenty.”

“And,” Gibbs prompted.

“And?” Ziva repeated.

Gibbs nodded. “And.”

“Gibbs, I’ve been on the phone for hours and that is all the solid information I have found. Everything else is just rumors. It’s almost as if after joining the KGB he just vanished. Getting that much about the man was like pulling hair.”

“I think you mean teeth,” McGee said, bitterly muffling the phone against his shoulder before returning it to its normal position.

“No, I meant my own hair,” Ziva said.

“Say that next time,” Gibbs said before looking across the bullpen, “McGee.”

McGee rocked forward like he wanted to slam his head against his desk but stopped himself in time. “Boss, I’ve got his birth certificate, I’ve got his social security number, I’ve got his naturalization records, I have his medical license, thank you NCIS, and I have his home address. Is that it? Can you think of anything else that I need?”

“Baby pictures?” Tony sarcastically threw out.

“Hahaha,” McGee shot back equally sarcastic.

“His passport,” Gibbs suggested.

“On hold with them right now,” McGee said with a nod.

“Don’t forget his military record and his national insurance number,” Gibbs said.

“His what?” McGee asked.

“National insurance number, it’s the British equivalent to the US social security number,” Ziva explained.

“Why do you know that?” Tony asked and Ziva shrugged.

“Boss, I’m having a hard enough time getting his passport,” McGee protested.

“Good,” Gibbs said.

“Good?”

“Yeah, means that someone didn’t plant it,” Gibbs said.

McGee nodded. “Meaning he’s a real person.”

“Uh-huh.”

“So, will getting his British social be just as hard?” McGee asked, dreading the answer.

“Probably.”

“Great,” McGee muttered. “Yes, I’m still here.”

* * *

 

Tobias Fornell was becoming very happy that DeForest was the one in charge of this case as Doctor Mallard derailed her line of questioning with yet _another_ story. Thinking back to how DiNozzo had been and now the with the NCIS Medical Examiner giving them a hard time Tobias was starting to wonder if Gibbs held seminars on how to be difficult during an internal investigation.

“Mr. Mallard,” DeForest cut Ducky off mid-story, “Were you ever in Russia?”

“As a matter of fact I was, two years ago there was a seminar about dental identification that was going in, oh where was it? I want to say Tambov. It was rather interesting, the lead doctor, I don’t recall his name, detailed the difference of dental work between America, Australia, England and South Africa. I know that South Africa sounds like a bit of an outlier but it actually has a fast growing dentistry-”

“Were you ever in Russia during the 1960’s?” DeForest amended, tightly.

“Oh, travel to Russia during the Cold War was rather difficult at the time. I mean when the Berlin Wall was standing travel to one side of the city to the other was considered nearly impossible. Did you know that it has been estimated that over two hundred people died trying to illegally cross the wall but officially it’s less than a hundred-”

“Did you ever know a Napoleon Solo?” DeForest asked again, her voice sharp.

“I thought I already answered that one,” Ducky said, faintly amused.

“No, you just gave us a short biography about Napoleon Bonaparte,” Tobias said.

“I’m sorry that’s just the first thing that came to mind. However coming back to Russia, Napoleon Bonaparte did try to invade Russia in, oh, I think it was 1812, which may have been the campaign that doomed his career more than the Battle of Waterloo as winter tends to set in-”

DeForest stood suddenly and Doctor Mallard stopped, looking at her in confusion.

“I need to use the lady’s room,” She glanced at Tobias. “Coming?”

Tobias raised an eyebrow. “I don’t need to use the lady’s room.”

DeForest narrowed her eyes at him and left, slamming the door behind her.

“Was it something I said?” Doctor Mallard asked, entirely too innocently.

Tobias gave him a look. “You’re being difficult on purpose.”

“Agent Fornell, did you notice that all the papers in file she’s been looking at have been redacted?” Tobias opened his mouth to ask and Ducky pointed at the one-way mirror. “I saw it in the reflection.”

“Ah.”

“Um, Agent Fornell,” Ducky said, sounding a little unsure, “I do have a favor to ask. You see it’s my birthday today-”

“Oh, happy birthday,” Tobias said, honestly meaning it. “I can’t let you out.”

“Oh, no, I’m not asking you to,” Ducky said, “It’s just, I had dinner plans with my cousin tonight, and I was hoping I could give a call to let him know I probably won’t be able to make it.”

“I could call him for you,” Tobias offered.

“Thank you. Oh, and do tell Albert that I hope he and Angelique have made up; they really are a cute couple.” Ducky said, writing down his cousin’s contact information.

“No problem,” Tobias said, taking the scrap of paper. “Can I get you anything? A bottle of water?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“I’ll be back,” Tobias promised, stepping out of the room. Tobias stepped into a corner and pulled out his cellphone dialing the number on the paper. It wasn’t long before Ducky’s cousin answered.

“ _Albert Stroller_.”

“Hi, my name’s Tobias. I’m calling on behave Doctor Mallard, he, uh, he says he’s sorry that he probably won’t make it to dinner tonight.”

“ _Is everything alright?”_ Albert asked alarmed.

“It’s nothing to worry about just something came up,” Tobias assured him. “He’s actually more worried about you and Angelique than what’s got him tied up.”

“ _…Is that so?”_

“Yeah, hopes the two of you will work it out since you two make a cute couple.”

“ _I see… well I make no promises. Let him know I got the message. Goodbye.”_

“Bye…” Tobias hung up. While his gut did not have the legendary status Gibbs’s did it wasn’t useless; for some reason it was telling him that he’d just been played. Tobias dialed another number.

“ _Gibbs.”_

“Hey, we need to talk.”

* * *

 

“Hey, what are you doing here?” Abby asked her music at a comfortable level as Jimmy came power walking in.

“Sorry, it was just really quiet down in the morgue without Doctor Mallard. But then again, you know, the morgue has never been very _lively_ ,” Palmer gave Abby a huge smile, chuckling at his own joke.

Abby shot him an unimpressed look.

Palmer gave her a nervous look. “Cause you see, the morgue is where we put dead people so it can’t-”

“I got it, Jimmy,” Abby said.

“Yeah, so, anyway I finished up all the paperwork that I can without Doctor Mallard and since all the other investigations are on hold…” Palmer shrugged. “How’s it going down here anyway?”

“Sucky, I compared the five pictures of Kuryakin to each other and they are definitely the same guy in each one,” Abby said, gesturing to the screen.

“I thought we already knew that,” Palmer said.

“Rule number three: Never believe everything you’re told; double check!” Abby said, putting a finger in Palmer’s face.

He leaned back, looking at her finger. “I thought rule three was ‘never be unreachable’?”

“No, that’s rule three of Gibbs rules. Rule three of Crime Scene Investigations is double check,” Abby turned back to her computer.

“Wait, there’s a separate set of rules? Or is it like a subsection?” Palmer asked, relaxing without the finger in his face.

“The number doesn’t matter, Jimmy, following the rules is what matters,” Abby explained.

Palmer nodded in feigned understanding.

“However,” Abby said getting the conversation back on track, “running the five against Ducky’s picture from this year does suggest that they are the same guy.”

“Suggest?” Palmer asked alarmed.

“Well, it’s well within the parameters of Ducky’s age,” Abby admitted, unhappily. “Keep in mind, it’s like, a fifty year difference.”

“Well, what about our control?” Palmer asked.

Abby turned to Palmer with a Cheshire cat grin. “Running that as we speak.”

 Abby’s computer chimed and she turned to it still smiling. “Right on time. And the results are…”

Palmer looked at Abby as the smile slid off of her face. “What? What’s wrong?”

“I ran the picture against the ones of our Russian spy…” Abby explained her voice hollow.

“Yeah, and?”

“And the picture you grabbed of Ducky is definitely of Illya Kuryakin.”

Abby and Palmer looked at each other in growing horror as they realized what that meant.


	4. Rumors and doubt

_Palmer twisted the phone cord with his finger, looking at the tiger and desperately hoping he was doing the right thing._

“The rumors I’ve been getting have been less than helpful,” Ziva said staring at the plasma. “No one knows for sure what happened to Kuryakin just that he existed and he’s out of the spy game. I’ve heard that he’s now a dress maker, that he died on a personal vendetta against some army general, he recently wrote a crime novel -”

“And now the FBI’s saying he became a medical examiner for NCIS,” Tony said.

“Something that we have proven,” Palmer said dejectedly from Tony’s desk.

“Stay positive, gremlin,” Tony said, “stay positive.”

“No, please don’t put me on hold again!...And I’m on hold,” McGee buried his face in his hand.

“Even more baffling is that I can’t seem to find two people who agree who he was spying for! The Russians, the Americans, the Spanish, the French, some small countries that no longer even exist! It’s getting to the point that it might be easier to list who he didn’t spy for! The man spent years scramming all over the globe!”

Tony slowly nodded his head. “I don’t even know what you were trying to say nor do I want to, but I get it. Carry-on-kin probably did not settle down to 2.5 kids and a white picket fence or whatever the Russian dream is.”

“I just can’t believe that Doctor Mallard might have been lying to us the whole time,” Palmer said.

“What did I just say about being positive?” Tony asked.

“I’m trying, Tony, but you can’t find _anyone_ who knew Doctor Mallard when he was younger and now with Abby matching the pictures? I mean, does that mean that Doctor Mallard was some kind of…” Palmer waved his hands in the air looking for the word.

“He was a MERCENARY!” Ziva shouted causing everyone near her and a few passerby’s to jump. “THAT’S why we can’t figure out who he was spying for! He was spying for whoever was paying him! Hah!”

Palmer gestured to Ziva. “That.”

“Okay. That does it. Up, stop being mope-y in my chair,” Tony said, pulling Palmer out of his area.

“I’m sorry, Tony, it’s just, I’m having a hard time wrapping my head around that Doctor Mallard might not be…Doctor Mallard.”

Tony slapped Palmer upside the head. “Stop that. Okay, so we hit a few road blocks. The best we have is circumstantial evidence. Which means that the best the FBI has is _also_ circumstantial evidence. Now,” Tony pushed a button on the remote, pulling up Ducky’s picture from his NCIS file onto the plasma, “look me in the eye and tell me that you _truly_ believe that that man was a Russian spy.”

Palmer looked at the screen then at Tony who raised an eyebrow.

Palmer reached forward grabbing the remote from Tony and clicked a button. “Okay, look me in the eye and tell me she wasn’t a spy for the Chinese.”

Tony turned and looked at the plasma. “I was not aware that John Cena was a woman. That outfit looks good on her.”

“What?” Palmer turned to see that he had in fact pulled up a promotional photo for WWE. Palmer looked down at the remote. “How did I even do that?”

“The remote is a cruel mistress. Not everyone can handle it,” Tony said.

“Uh, what, what button do I need to push?” Palmer asked.

“Depends, what are you trying to do?” Tony asked in return.

“I was trying to pull up a picture of Agent Lee.”

“Why would we have a picture of her on the plasma right now?” Tony raised an eyebrow.

“Why do you have a picture of John Cena on there?” Palmer countered.

“Good point, give me the thing,” Tony took the remote from Palmer clicking a few things and pulling up Agent Lee’s old NCIS profile picture. “There you go.”

“Thank you, now look me in the eye and tell me she wasn’t a spy for the Chinese.”

“I can. Mainly because we have no idea who she was working for but also because all dramatic tension is gone. John Cena, ruins most dramatic things I noticed,” Tony said.

“Okay, but my point, Tony, is that I’m tired of the people I can about turning out to be spies,” Palmer said.

“Didn’t you sleep with Agent Lee? Multiple times?” Ziva asked her attention still on the plasma.

“I, ugh, well, yes. I did,” Palmer admitted.

“There something you want to tell us about you and Ducky?” Ziva asked looking at him out of the corner of her eye.

“Uh, what? No. Please, guys just take this seriously!”

“Palmer, I promise you, we are taking this very seriously,” Tony said, laying a hand on the other man’s shoulder.

“Yes, I’m still here!” McGee snapped into the phone, “I’ve been here long to think your hold music should be outlawed by the Geneva Convention!”

“Ziva and I are taking this seriously,” Tony amended. “And I get it. You’re worried that Ducky isn’t who he says he is but there is something that you need to remember:” Tony pushed another button pulling up Gibbs NCIS profile picture. “That Lee couldn’t last more than a year with Gibbs on her, the only reason she lasted four here is ‘cause Gibbs wasn’t in regular contact with her. Now, with that in mind; do you honestly think that Doctor Donald ‘Ducky’ Mallard could have fooled Gibbs? A man that he has known longer than you, longer than me, longer than anyone in this entire building and longer than most of Gibbs’s marriages.”

Palmer looked at the plasma, wilting slightly under the photo’s look. “Well…no.”

“Trust me, Gibbs would _know_ if Ducky had some deep, dark secret like being a Russian spy,” Tony said, “Now, get your stuff and go home. Also take the stairs.”

“Take the stairs? Why?” Palmer asked.

“Because judging by the amount of people not taking the elevator; Gibbs is four and a half floors into questioning Fornell.”

* * *

 

“…and now DeForest keeps trying to catch him in non-answers,” Fornell said, leaning against the wall of the elevator.

“What’s DeForest’s game?” Gibbs asked, pacing in the small space.

“No clue, but I do know that she’s also after someone named Napoleon Solo.”

Gibbs paused mid-step.

**_The big wig dropped a loaded gun onto the desk. “Shoot that man.”_ **

**_The Uniform nodded, taking the gun and turning to the man tied to the chair. The Uniform’s eyes widened as another KGB pulled the sack off the man tied to the chair._ **

**_“Napoleon,” The Uniform said in shock._ **

**_The man in the chair, Napoleon Solo, glanced around the room and eyed the gun in the Uniform’s hands warily._ **

“You know him?” Fornell asked, noticing the pause.

“Crossed paths,” Gibbs admitted. “What is it about, anyway?”

Fornell shrugged, running a hand over his balding head. “Don’t know. You’d think by the way DeForest is acting that this was her first time leading a case. I almost took it from her.”

“Why didn’t you?” Gibbs asked.

“Higher ups say if took over one more case they’d put me on suspension just to force me to take a break.” Fornell sighed, “It’s really been getting on my nerves not knowing what’s going on with this one, though.”

“Yeah, mine too,” Gibbs agreed. “You got a theory?”

“Yeah, rumor has it Kuryakin liked to team up with Solo so maybe there was a job they did that now DeForest needs.”

“Or a job Solo did solo that she needs.”

Fornell glared at Gibbs. “DiNozzo’s rubbing off on you.”

Gibbs gave a small smirk. “So what kind of job?”

“God, Gibbs, that could be anything. Drugs, weapons, over throwing a government,” Fornell tossed out. “Something that has an impact that would last fifty years.”

Gibbs paused. “Do you know who classified the information on Kuryakin?”

“I think it was the CIA. Why?”

“We could just ask,” Gibbs said, flipping the emergency switch off.

“Ask?” Fornell said skeptically as the elevator moved.

Gibbs smirked giving Fornell a look. “Yeah, ask.”

* * *

 

Palmer had a greeting and apology to Doctor Mallard stuck in his throat. He hadn’t realized how ingrained the habit was until Doctor Mallard wasn’t around to hear how Agent Gibbs had shanghaied the elevator again. Palmer glanced at the clock as he gathered up his things.

“Hard to believe this whole thing only started this morning. But, you know if you really think about it, you could say, this whole thing started fifty years ago when-” Palmer snapped his mouth shut as he looked guiltily at the empty morgue. He wondered vaguely if Doctor Mallard ever did that, talk to an empty room forgetting that the bodies had been put away for the night.

He turned back to desk, a glimpse of orange catching his attention. He looked again. It was the tiger, lying forgotten in its corner.

“That this whole thing started fifty years ago,” he continued, pretending that he had been talking to the tiger the whole time, it made him feel less crazy, “when Kuryakin was spying. Just it’s hard to believe that Doctor Mallard, was you know, like a Russian super-spy. Though if that was the case I _really_ should have given him the gun back when we’d been kidnapped… And I know, I know, I shouldn’t believe it, but Tony is having trouble finding someone who knew Doctor Mallard before he was a doctor and-”

Palmer froze and then _looked_ at the tiger. The tiger was a present from Doctor Mallard’s cousin. Palmer reached for the address books that Doctor Mallard kept on his desk.

“Sorry, Doctor.” He muttered, flipping through personal, and probably private, belongings looking for a phone number. He found the only Albert in the book in the ‘S’ section, several old numbers crossed out with new ones in various colors of ink written in. He carefully found the one that looked the freshest and dialed it from the office phone.

“ _We’re sorry, the number you are trying to reach is not available-”_

Palmer slammed the phone down in frustration, resting his hands on either side of the desk looking down at the blotter.

“There has to be a way-”

Palmer blinked as he realized he was staring at the blue envelope of Doctor Mallard’s birthday card. He pulled the card out, flipping it open to see Albert wishing Doctor Mallard a happy birthday and…

A number where to reach him.

Palmer grabbed the phone again dialing in the number. “ _Residence Inn Washington, this is Mike, how can I help you?”_

“Uh, room 418 please,” he said, looking at the card.

“ _One moment.”_ There was a burst of static then it started to ring.

A new voice answered. “ _Albert Stroller.”_

“Uh, hi, are you, are you the Albert who shares an uncle, _Great_ -Uncle, with Doctor Mallard?”

“ _Yes, may I ask who’s calling?”_

“Oh, uh, sorry, I’m Mr. Palmer, Jimmy, Jimmy Palmer. I work with Doctor Mallard.”

“ _Ah, yes, the young man who Ducky’s always going on about. Is he in trouble? You are the second person that’s called on his behave.”_

“I, uh, it’s kinda of hard to say. Actually I was wondering: do you have any, pictures of Doctor Mallard? Of when he was younger?” Palmer twisted the phone cord with his finger, looking at the tiger and desperately hoping he was doing the right thing.


	5. Asking for Help

_Abby grabbed her Caf-Pow drinking out of moodily as she worked on what Gibbs gave her._

Tobias stepped into the observation side of the FBI’s integration room, the results of NCIS’s facial recognition in a folder in his hand. Tobias wondered how many Caf-Pows it was going to take Jethro to get back in Abby’s good graces after giving Tobias the results that would help the FBI’s case against Ducky. But it would serve as an explanation when DeForest asked where he had been and why. Speaking of, she was on the other side of the glass, once again questioning the doctor.

“ _Do you speak Russian?”_ She asked, pacing on her side of the table.

“ _Well, yes, it would have made going to Tambov rather difficult otherwise. I personally find it rather rude that when one travels they don’t have the basic grasp of how to say ‘Thank you’ or ‘please’ of the language of the country they are going to. I remember one time I had gone to the Louvre Museum, and as I was passing one of the many gift shops, I want to say it was in the religious art section, just past the Mona Lisa, when I heard one of the workers bitterly muttering that he wished tourists would learn French. A sentiment I often find here in America in regards to English.”_

 _“A ‘yes’ would have been enough,”_ DeForest said. “ _Do you just like the sound of your own voice?”_

_“No, but I do seem to do most of the talking when I converse with others, so I suppose it’s become habit.”_

“Think I should tell her that Doctor Mallard talks to dead people?” Tobias asked the technician sitting at the monitors.

The tech grabbed his bowl of popcorn and offered it to Tobias, who gratefully took a few pieces.

* * *

 

“ _Agent Gibbs, what can the CIA do for NCIS?”_ Agent Baldwin asked from the screen of MTAC.

“I was hoping to get some information on a spy you’ve classified,” Gibbs said.

“ _We’ve classified a lot of spies,”_ Agent Baldwin said, “ _you’re going to have to be a little more specific.”_

“Illya Nickovitch Kuryakin,” Gibbs said.

Agent Baldwin rocked back in his seat. “ _And why does NCIS need to know about someone who hasn’t been on anyone’s radar for nearly fifty years?”_

“Because Agent Kelly DeForest of the FBI thinks she’s found him.”

“ _Between you and me, Agent Gibbs, I don’t think Agent DeForest has the clearance to even_ ask _how to spell Kuryakin’s name. I’m still not sure what NCIS has to do with anything.”_

“The reason we’re asking is because the man that she thinks is Kuryakin happens to be our Medical Examiner and we want him back,” Gibbs explained.

“ _Agent Gibbs, I’m not sure how much the information that I can give you will help with that_.”

“Why?”

“ _Because even I don’t have the clearance to look up anything that you probably don’t already know.”_

“Then find me someone who does,” Gibbs said leveling a _look_ at the CIA agent.

“… _I’ll see what I can do.”_ Agent Baldwin promised.

* * *

 

Palmer sat at the bar, a glass of Jonny Walker Red in his hands. He heard the door open again and he twisted to see a few tourists, probably from Britain judging by their accents, walk in. He wondered if he should have let Agent Gibbs know where he was going. He picked the glass up, brought it to his lips before putting it down again without taking a drink.

Palmer let Brianna know that he was going to be home late. That would be enough if he got kidnapped… right?

“…Okay, should have also told Tony at least,” Palmer muttered to himself, pulling out his phone to text him.

“Jimmy Palmer?” Someone asked, laying their hand on his shoulder. Palmer jumped with a cry, fumbling his phone to point of nearly dropping it. The hand retreated quickly and Palmer turned to look at its owner. An older gentleman in a nice business suit held his hands up, showing that he was unarmed giving Palmer an easy smile. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“No, no, I’m sorry, I was just about to text-Yes, I’m Jimmy Palmer,” he said, offering his hand to shake.

The other man chuckled and took the offered hand. “Nice to meet you, Jimmy. I’m Albert.”

“Oh,” Palmer blinked, “I’m sorry, I didn’t think you’d have-”

“An American accent?” Albert finished, gesturing to the seat next to Palmer. Palmer startled, motioned grandly to the chair and Albert sat down with a laugh. “Yes, it’s been a great joke between Ducky and me; The Scotsman lives in America and the American ended up living in the UK.”

Albert flagged down the bartender with ease, ordering a scotch. “If you want to finish your text to Agent Gibbs I won’t be offended.”

“Well, I was texting Tony-” Palmer froze, “Um, uh, how did you know I was texting someone from NCIS?”

Albert tapped Palmer’s cellphone. “You said yourself you were about to text someone and how jumpy you are right now, it’d probably be someone with a gun and I know that Ducky trusts Gibbs.”

“Yeah, well,” Palmer said, “I would but, I don’t think Agent Gibbs knows _how_ to text.”

Albert tilted his head to the side. “True. You should still…” Albert gestured to the phone.

“Oh, right,” Palmer tapped out a quick message to Tony and sent it. He slipped his phone back into his pocket. “So…uh…”

“So how much trouble is Ducky in?” Albert asked his eyes on the rows of bottles in front of the mirror behind the bar.

“Uh, a lot? In truth I’m not sure if I’m allowed to talk about it,” Palmer admitted.

Albert took a drink, turning to Palmer. “How about this: You tell me how digging up old pictures of Ducky out of storage will help him get out of trouble.”

“Uh, well you see, Doctor Mallard is, well, some people in the FBI think that he might be someone else who is… not nice. And when I grabbed a picture of him from, uh, when he was younger it, uh, matched the pictures of the other guy.”

Albert nodded. “And what would happen to Ducky if they think he really is the ‘not nice’ person?”

“Traditionally, he’d be hanged by the neck, cut down before suffocating, his entrails removed while he’s still alive and then he’d be set on fire.”

Albert paused, his glass almost to his lips.

“On a ship they would have keel hauled him,” Palmer noted distantly, finally taking a drink himself.

Albert set his glass down. “Now I see why he asked about Angelique…”

“What?”

Albert shook his head and waved off Palmer’s question. “So what picture is worth all… _that_?”

“Oh, I have it on my phone,” Palmer said, digging into his pocket and pulling up the picture on his phone. “I, I kept it ‘cause it really is a great photo of him and I didn’t think it was gonna link him to some Russian spy…”

Albert pulled out a pair of square reading glasses and holding Palmer’s hand to tilt the phone to an angle he could see the picture. “Huh, I think I was there with him.”

Palmer blinked. “You were?”

“Oh, yes, Ducky and I used to travel together all the time. I think this was before he shipped out on some aircraft carrier for the Royal Airforce. I bought a new camera for the trip. I remember Duck getting really annoyed with how many pictures I was taking.”

“Albert, do you remember taking this picture?” Palmer asked, leaning forward.

* * *

 

“Do you remember every picture ever taken of you, Agent DeForest?” Ducky asked, looking up from the copy of the picture of the day trip to Germany that NCIS had provided.

“Answer the question,” DeForest snapped.

“If I had to say: vaguely. If I remember correctly my cousin Albert took this, I think he just wanted to play in the photo lab that our relative we were staying with had. I do think this one came out quite well.”

“Funny, because your own lab at NCIS matched this with known pictures of Illya Kuryakin,” DeForest said, looking him in the eye. “You wouldn’t happen to know why, would you?”

“Unfortunately, no. Though I’m sure Abby had come up with at least half a dozen theories when you picked this up,” Ducky glanced at Fornell, watching as the FBI agent’s eye twitched in recollection.

“You want to know what I think?” DeForest asked.

“My dear, it all to clear what you think,” Ducky said, folding his hands together. “You think that I’m a retired spy, dragging you around in circles for my own amusement. I would, however like to point out that you are the ones that brought me here. I can’t tell you anything about what Kuryakin or Solo were doing in the Sixties and I think you are starting to realize that.”

“So you’re saying you’re not Illya Kuryakin,” DeForest clarified.

Ducky shrugged. “I already told you, my name is Doctor Donald Mallard. You are free to believe me or not. I can’t force you to.”

“So if I were to take every picture of you and compare them against Kuryakin they _wouldn’t_ match,” DeForest pressed.

“Hm, you’ve unfortunately run into something I don’t much about,” Ducky admitted. “I’m sure Abby could give you a list of statistics of the likelihood of two unrelated people matching but I haven’t the foggiest.”

* * *

 

“Do you know what the odds are of two unrelated people matching really are!?” Abby ranted as Gibbs came in with a Caf-Pow for her. “Okay, admittedly really low but there are about seven people on this planet that look like you! So simple math says that out of seven billion people, one in a billion will look like you!”

“Abby.”

“Okay, so that means the fact that Ducky matches some, evil, Russian spy, isn’t out of the realm of possibilities! Plus the hat and glasses in the picture can in fact be throwing off my results!” Abby said typing on her computer, ignoring the Caf-Pow Gibbs sat next to her. “When was the last time Ducky posted his pictures on Facebook? Because we are dealing with ridiculously small sample size; I need more pictures to compare against!”

Gibbs fanned out a collection of pictures of him and Ducky taken over years of friendship, whistling to get her attention as he held them in between her and her computer.

“Oh.” She took the pictures then looked Gibbs in the eye. “I’m still mad at you.”

“I know,” Gibbs said. “You planning on going home tonight?”

Abby’s look hardened into a glare. “You think I would go home now? When Ducky needs me? I am NOT leaving my lab until all of these pictures have been tested! I don’t care how long that takes, be it all night, all week or all year, do you understand!?”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I just wanted to know if I needed to get you breakfast as well as dinner,” Gibbs said walking out of the room.

“Still mad!” Abby grabbed her Caf-Pow drinking out of moodily as she worked on what Gibbs gave her.


	6. Answers Only Go So Far

_Gibbs, merely raised an eyebrow; he knew better than to stand in the way when Ducky was on a warpath._

Ziva walked out of the elevator, her eyes scanning the bullpen to see Tony dozing at his desk and McGee asleep at his. “Did either of you ever go home last night or were you too busy burning the midnight wax?”

Tony shook his head without bothering to raise it from his fists, his eyes still closed. “It’s ‘midnight oil’ and no, I ended up chatting with some of Ducky’s old friends in England thanks to the time difference and Probie was getting Ducky’s military record.”

“Either of you get any sleep?” Ziva asked, dropping her bag behind her desk.

“Probie finally fell asleep,” Tony shifted his head to rest on his right fist so he could look at his watch, “about an hour ago. ‘Bout time, I was getting tired myself.”

Ziva paused as she processed what he said and then looked in alarm at McGee’s desk. “You didn’t do anything to him, did you?!”

“Ziva, do you honestly think so little of me?” Tony asked.

“Yes.”

Tony smirked and gestured to McGee’s desk. “Take a look.”

Wary, Ziva approached the younger man’s desk, noticing a folder that he was using as a pillow. She inched forward, her ankle snagging on something. She jerked her foot back but the tripwire had been, well, tripped causing a weight to land on an air horn. Ziva flinched as the horn sounded for full ear-numbing second, making Tony jump and McGee jerk awake.

“TONY, you’re NOT pranking me!” McGee snapped still half-asleep, his jacket littered with doodle covered post-its, one of them stuck to his cheek. McGee blinked owlishly up at her. “Oh, morning Ziva.”

“Morning, McGee,” Ziva said, acid in her tone as she pulled the post-it off of his face before she turned and glared at Tony.

Tony blinked, looking a little worried. He gave a semi-guilty smile. “Who wants breakfast?”

Ziva’s eyes softened as they slid past him and Tony turned in time to see Gibbs escorting a well put together visitor towards Director Vance’s office. Gibbs must have sensed eyes on him as he called out “Three hours” without turning to the team.

Tony turned back to Ziva and McGee. “You heard the man, we’ve got three hours.”

Ziva nodded taking the folder from McGee’s desk. “Then we better not waste any time.”

“Coffee then campfire,” Tony agreed, gathering his notes.

“What are we doing with coffee?” McGee asked still not quite awake.

* * *

 

It was nearly noon when Fornell opened the door to Director Vance’s office, letting DeForest escort Ducky through first. Fornell scanned the room out of habit, his attention drawn to the conference table and the two sitting at it with Gibbs standing next to it.

Vance looked up and nodded at the table. “Un-handcuff Doctor Mallard and have a seat.”

DeForest studied the room. “He’s still in our custody.”

Gibbs moved forward towering over everyone with ease, he caught Fornell’s look of jealously over their height difference.

“Don’t make me say it again,” Vance warned.

DeForest planted her feet. “You don’t have the authority-”

“Agent DeForest, no one is impressed,” A woman wearing a good suit, with red hair and an even tone said, “The CIA has jurisdiction over anything having to do with Illya Kuryakin. Un-cuff Doctor Mallard and Sit Down.”

DeForest held her ground for a second longer, glaring at Gibbs as she fished out her key and released Ducky. Gibbs pointedly pulled out two chairs from the table, DeForest never breaking eye contact as she sat down and Fornell sat down next to her with more grace. Ducky stood hesitantly for a moment before Gibbs pulled out a chair father down from the FBI agents and the ME sat down. Gibbs sat between Ducky and Fornell.

“I don’t think you’ve been introduced,” Vance gestured to the red-haired woman, “Agent DeForest, this is April Dancer of the CIA. Ms. Dancer, Agent Kelly DeForest.”

“Yes, your actions precede you,” Dancer said, “Alright, let’s save everybody some time. Stop looking into Kuryakin.”

DeForest blinked. “What?”

“As I said before,” Dancer explained with patience, “Kuryakin falls under our jurisdiction, so you don’t have to look for him.”

“Just because you have jurisdiction doesn’t mean he doesn’t need to be found-”

“Found? The CIA never _lost_ him.” Dancer corrected. “I know _exactly_ where Kuryakin is right at this moment.”

Everyone but Gibbs and Dancer looked at Ducky with various degrees of subtly.

“Your commitment to your misguided theory is admirable,” Dancer said, drawing everyone’s eyes back to her. “Because I’ve seen your evidence and it is woefully lacking. So, what in the world makes you so sure that Doctor Mallard is Kuryakin?”

“What is your evidence that he’s not?” DeForest demanded.

Fornell covered his mouth, resting his elbow on the table as he shot Gibbs a look. Gibbs gave a small grin and tilted his head to the side.

Dancer sighed. “Agent DeForest-”

The door of the office burst open as Abby entered like flood, with Palmer, Albert, and the rest of Gibbs team washing in after her.

“Miss Sciuto-!” Vance said only for Abby, still dressed in yesterday’s clothes, to talk over him.

“You can’t arrest Ducky for being a Russian Spy, because he’s NOT and we can prove it!” She all but slammed her laptop onto the table and opening the lid. “I wish you guys had like, told me about this, so I could make it, you know, understandable, with like graphs or something, but you know what, it’s okay, because Ducky is worth not sleeping, and running facial recognition on Albert’s entire photo album!”

“Abby, would you like us to start while you get that set up?” McGee asked.

“Yes!”

Vance gave McGee an unamused look. “Yes, why don’t you precede, Agent McGee?”

McGee had the decency to look nervous. “Uh, well, I have, uh, I have Doctor Mallard’s records from his birth to now, including his military record.”

“And according to my research,” Ziva added, flipping open her file, “multiple sources place Kuryakin in Amsterdam asking about stolen diamonds in 1964 while his military record places Doctor Mallard in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean as one of the ship’s doctors aboard the _HMS Hermes_.”

“I found at least eight people who knew Doctor Mallard, three of whom served with him during Sixties and Seventies,” Tony said.

“AND,” Palmer said, laying a hand on the arm of the older gentleman next to him, “We have his second-cousin, Albert, right here.”

“Oh, the cousin you were supposed to have dinner with?” Fornell asked Ducky.

“Yes, I appreciated the call by the way.” Albert said.

“SO DID I!” Abby said, flipping her laptop around for everyone else to see, “Cause then Palmer called him, and he brought a GIANT photo album with him. I can say, with a hundred percent certainty that NONE of the pictures of Ducky Mallard match Illya Kuryakin!”

“Wait, none of them?” Fornell asked. “Then what about the one you gave me?”

“That is BECAUSE it’s actually a picture of Kuryakin!” Abby said bouncing in excitement, “I ran that one against the ones that Gibbs and Albert gave me and they don’t match. When Albert and Ducky were in Germany, Kuryakin must have been there too and since they look so similar Albert took his picture thinking it was Ducky!”

“Oh, it was _you_ ,” Dancer said, looking at Albert with mischief in her eyes. “I remember Kuryakin telling me about the time he had to follow someone for three hours after they took his picture. You’re lucky he didn’t kill you.”

Everyone looked at Albert, who looked mildly surprised at the story.

“ _Whoa_ ,” Abby said.

“How long have you been working on this?” Dancer asked.

“’Bout a day and a half,” Tony answered.

“Verses your, what, month?” Dancer said her eyes on DeForest.

“…Three weeks.”

“I must say, Agent Gibbs, I’m impressed with your team. But to be perfectly honest, you didn’t need to bother,” Dancer said, “Kuryakin has been granted Immunity, Amnesty and Pardons in the U.S. and many other countries.”

There was a pause as everyone looked at each other.

“Like,” Tony asked, scratching his ear, “how many countries are we talking about?”

Dancer thought for a moment. “How many countries are currently in the U.N.?”

The whole room seemed to blink. “Oh.”

McGee licked his lips. “That’s…”

“Quite a lot,” Palmer finished.

“A lot? That’s like, ALL of them!” Abby exclaimed.

“Hm, all but six I believe,” Ducky corrected.

“So, we did all of this for nothing?” Tony asked.

“Looks like,” Gibbs said with a half smirk.

Vance leveled a look at the senior agent. “Why do I get the feeling you knew this would happen, Agent Gibbs?”

Gibbs just smirked and shrugged.

“Gibbs, why didn’t you say anything?” Abby demanded.

“It would have saved us a lot of phone calls,” Tony pointed out.

“And a bottle of aspirin,” McGee added bitterly.

“Agent Gibbs is not allowed to say anything in regards to Kuryakin,” Dancer said, and the team looked at Gibbs in surprise.

“Let me guess: The redacted paragraph in your file about the six months in Russia has something to do with Kuryakin?” Vance said.

DeForest stiffened looking at Gibbs in surprise. “You know what happened to Kuryakin and Solo?”

**_“Comrade Kuryakin,” The bigwig said, dropping a loaded gun onto the desk. “Shoot that man.”_ **

**_The Uniform, Kuryakin, picked up the gun, pointing it at the tied up man. His eyes widened as a KGB pulled the hood off. “Napoleon…”_ **

**_Solo looked around the room and eyed the gun in Kuryakin’s hands warily._ **

“Somewhat,” Gibbs answered off handily. “And it doesn’t explain why you’re so interested in them.”

“It’s…” DeForest worried her lip.

When the FBI agent didn’t speak again, Dancer looked across the table at Ducky. “You are free to go if you wish, Doctor Mallard.”

Ducky nodded, laying his hands on the table as he stood up.

“This case is dealing with diphenylpicrincyanicchlorasine,” DeForest finally said her eyes closed in resignation.

Ducky froze halfway out of his chair causing everyone to pause.

“What is that?” Palmer asked, watching as Ducky slowly sat back down.

“Well, it’s a mouth full. And here I thought I’d never be able to pronounce Carry-on-kin right.” Tony said.

“You still can’t,” Ziva noted sharply.

Albert’s eyes scanned the room, as though he was reading the tension in the air. When their eyes met, Gibbs nodded in Ziva’s direction. Albert gently took the file from her and laid it by Ducky’s elbow before gently squeezing the ME’s arm. “I believe this is our cue to leave.”

“But wait, what’s-?” McGee started only for Albert to seemingly herd them all out of the room.

When the door shut with a resounding click, Ducky turned to DeForest. “In what way does this case involve that gas?”

“How do you know it’s a gas?” DeForest asked.

Ducky leveled an unimpressed look at her. “Gibbs is not the only one with a redaction in his military history. And I don’t believe you are in a position to being the one asking the questions anymore.”

“I have one,” Vance said, “What is this gas?”

“Diphenylpicrincyanicchlorasine is a powerful depressant that induces immense anxiety in those who are under its influence,” Ducky explained. “It was originally developed to replace nerve gas for World War Two. However the gas was easily defeated by a standard issues gas mask and the effects wear off in about two hours’ time.”

“And Kuryakin’s connection?”

Dancer spoke up. “He had been asked to investigate some people who planned to use the gas for their own ends. They had been planning on flooding military instillations with a higher, more stable form of the gas and take them over before it wore off.”

“They still are,” DeForest said.

Everyone in the room froze.

“ _Excuse me_ ,” Fornell practically demanded.

DeForest pulled a USB drive from her pocket and slid it onto the table. “I have information that a group is planning on releasing the gas on certain military, specifically, Naval bases.”

Gibbs slid the drive down to Vance while Fornell stood, towering over his own lead agent. “And you are only telling us this _now?_ ”

“I couldn’t say before,” DeForest said.

“’You couldn’t say before’? When you clearly have hard evidence on this but some half-assed photo evidence was enough to bring Doctor Mallard in for questioning!?” Fornell demanded.

“Spouse or child?” Dancer asked, watching as Vance searched the drive on his computer.

“My son,” DeForest admitted.

“Of course!” Fornell rolled his eyes.

Gibbs gave him a _look_.

“I didn’t say we’re not getting him back,” Fornell defended, “I’m just saying…of course.”

Vance pulled the pictures from the drive onto his plasma and everyone stood to look at them. It looked like the kind of generic shot that some tourist might have taken of Navy personal going about their day, if it wasn’t for the fact that all the pictures were taken pass the security check points of Joint Base Anacostia-Bolling. Vance looked at DeForest, “Did you take these?”

“No, these were sent to me as the potential targets.”

Gibbs shook his head pointing to a woman at the bottom right of the screen. “Not potential, she’s our jumper.”

“From yesterday?” Vance asked. “You think she’s involved?”

“Duck?” Gibbs said, turning back to the Doctor.

“Well, theoretically, a constant low dose of the gas could create an artificial anxiety disorder. If that is the case we should see traces of diphenyl sulfide in Ensign Kimberly Jones blood in a tox screen. But…”

“But?” Gibbs prompted.

“The scars Ensign Jones had on her arms were at least three months old. If she was exposed to the gas on base…”

“We’ll need to evacuate the base,” Vance said.

“Is that a good idea?” DeForest asked.

“I don’t think you have the right to question what is and is not a good idea,” Fornell said sharply.

“You are the one with a reputation for taking over cases because someone looked at you funny. I’ve been running this investigation so sloppily I would have thought you’d take it over two weeks ago!”

Gibbs looked at Fornell out of the corner of his eye. Fornell held up a finger without turning around. “Not one word, Gibbs. And you,” he said, his full attention on DeForest. “There were other ways of handling this than just hoping that someone would take this off of your hands.”

“What did you want me to do?” DeForest snapped. “They have my son!”

“Rule twenty-eight: If you need help, ask.” Gibbs said, deceptively calm, “We can’t help if we don’t know.”

“Why do you need Kuryakin?” Dancer asked.

DeForest glanced at Fornell, who was still glaring at her before she turned to Dancer fully. “The demands are for Kuryakin and/or Solo to deliver a million dollars to the Washington Monument by the end of the month.”

“Pretty low amount for a terrorist group,” Vance noted.

“What happens if it’s not Kuryakin or Solo who does it?” Dancer asked.

“My son dies, and they flood the military bases with the gas.”

“Gibbs is right, I wish you had said something sooner,” Dancer said, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “It’ll take weeks to go through the proper channels to contact Kuryakin, and even if he says yes, it’ll take time to set up the exchange so that we don’t have to relocate him afterwards-”

“I’ll do it,” Ducky said.

Everyone looked at him.

“Wait, are you saying…?” Fornell almost asked.

“That I apparently pass a close enough resemblance that I can pretend to be Illya Kuryakin for a day? Yes.”

“No, I don’t like it, it’s too risky,” Vance said.

“This won’t be the first time I went undercover for NCIS,” Ducky reminded the Director.

“Ducky,” Gibbs said looking at his friend.

Ducky held up a hand. “Jethro, a young man’s life hangs in the balance. And this gas is not something to be trifled with. All I need is some advice from Miss Dancer, some of Kuryakin’s old reports and perhaps a few hours to perform Ensign Jones’s autopsy and we can settle this.”

Dancer nodded. “Very well, give me a few hours to put together a briefing; that should also be enough time to preform your autopsy.”

Ducky nodded. “Thank you, if you excuse me.”

Vance held up a hand. “Stop.”

Ducky turned back to Vance.

“The autopsy I’ll give you. But I don’t like the idea of you going undercover. You’re a doctor, not a spy,” Vance said firmly.

Ducky took a deep breath and looked Vance in the eye. “I believe, in this case, I must be both.”

Vance looked at Gibbs as Ducky left the office. Gibbs, merely raised an eyebrow; he knew better than to stand in the way when Ducky was on a warpath.


	7. What Should Have Been Done First

_Ducky looked surprised but pleased at the turn of events._

The door to autopsy slid open and Palmer jumped to his feet as Ducky practically stormed in. "Uh, Doctor Mallard-"

"Tell me we have Ensign Kimberly Jones's remains," Ducky demanded, grabbing a fresh pair of scrubs.

"Uh, yes, she is right over here," Palmer said, opening 105 and pulling out the drawer where the woman was laid out.

"I'm sorry to say my dear, but our bedside manner is going to be a little rushed," Ducky told her hastily pulling on his scrubs.

"Rushed?" Palmer asked.

"We only have a few hours to perform an autopsy and most of that is getting Abby samples for the tox-screen. Lay her on the table and scrub up." Ducky said, walking over to the sink.

"Right," Palmer nodded. He looked at the Ensign leaving her there for the moment, and then turned to the retreating doctor and called out, "Doctor Mallard."

Ducky turned back to Palmer, his eyes falling on the corpse. "Mr. Palmer, time is of the ess-"

Palmer spoke over him. "-I just wanted to say: I'm sorry for doubting you. I mean, we found some very weak evidence and I believed it."

Ducky stopped and sighed. "Mr. Palmer, I don't blame you. You were following the evidence and from my understanding it was _you_ who reached out to Albert to clear my name. I am grateful for that."

Palmer nodded. "Thank you, but I am sorry that even for a _moment_ I believed you could have been a spy like Kuryakin."

Ducky paused and held up a finger. "Ah, funny you should mention that…"

* * *

"So let me see if I got this straight," Tony said watching as Gibbs handed out folders. "We have just gone through all the trouble to prove, without a reasonable doubt that Ducky is who he says he is. Only for him to now be _pretending_ to be the guy that we just busted our asses to prove he wasn't."

Ziva looked over the folder Gibbs handed her. "Looks like."

"Great…" McGee muttered. "Boss, are we sure he can handle it? The last time he went undercover he introduced himself to the target as 'Ducky'."

"The last time he was undercover he had you in his ear calling him 'Ducky'," Gibbs pointed out. "What did you find out about Ensign Jones?"

The team stopped looking at the folders and looked at each other in a calm sort of panic.

Gibbs rolled his eyes. "Tell Me you've been looking into Ensign Jones since you left the office."

"You, uh, you never said-" McGee stuttered to a stop as Gibbs _looked_ at him. "I'll get right on it."

"In his defense, Boss, he's been on the phone for like two days," Tony pointed out.

"What's your excuse?" Gibbs asked, typing something on his computer.

"Uh," Tony pointed over his shoulder with his thumb. "I've also been on the phone for two days."

"As have I looking into Kuryakin," Ziva added.

Gibbs didn't bother to look at them.

"We'll get started," Tony promised and he and Ziva hurried to their respective desks.

* * *

"I'm a little surprised you're not hanging out in autopsy with Ducky," Abby said, gathering up the pictures next to the scanner and handed some of them to Albert.

Albert took the pictures and slipped them into place in the photo album with a laugh. "I learned the hard way to let Ducky do what he does best."

Abby shot him a sympathetic smile. "You hurled didn't you?"

Albert almost started a sentence but thought better of it. He lifted a hand and gave a 'sort of' gesture to her. "Something like that."

Abby laughed as she flipped through the ones she hadn't handed over. "I've been meaning to ask; why are all of these mat-finished?"

Albert paused putting the pictures away then looked up at Abby. "Are they?"

"Well yeah," Abby said, flipping through pictures of Ducky and Albert and random people in different poses and places. "See? If you look at them they don't reflect the light as well as this one."

She reached over and tilted the picture of Kuryakin on the train platform looking very much like Ducky. The light on that one bounced highlighting the curve that appeared where Abby's thumb gently held the picture. She then held up one of Albert's picture of Ducky standing by a staircase wearing a baggy-knitted sweater and the light highlighted the nearly invisible bumps but not enough to hide the picture underneath.

Albert pulled out his reading glasses and looked at the photos and then laughed. "The guy at the photo booth told me they would last longer."

Abby smiled. "Let me guess, it also happened to cost more."

Albert gave her a guilty smile and shrug.

"Guess it was cheapest where Gibbs got his done," Abby said as she handed Albert some of the pictures that Gibbs gave her that reflected the light the same way as Albert's pictures.

"Hey, Abby," Palmer said, looking very distracted as he held out a small tray of jars, not even acknowledging Albert in his distraction. "Here are some blood samples and lung tissue that Doctor Mallard needs you to run a tox-screen on and I quote: STAT. And you need to look for diphenyl sulfide; he was very specific about that."

"Wow, Jimmy, what's got your knickers in a twist?" Abby asked as she signed for the evidence.

"Well," Palmer sighed, annoyed, "apparently the CIA have asked Doctor Mallard to pretend to be," Palmer gestured to the pictures Abby was putting away, "Kuryakin."

"What?!" Abby exclaimed turning to Palmer, looking at him like it was it was his fault.

"I know!" Palmer said.

"Why would they do that?" Abby demanded. "We proved that he's not!"

"Hence the pretending," Tony said causing the two to jump, holding out an evidence bag for Abby, "inhaler from our jumper."

"How did she have an inhaler on her?" Abby asked, taking the bag from him.

"She didn't; found it in her apartment," Tony said.

Palmer tilted the bag towards him, looking over the top of his glasses as he read the label. "Albuterol…this is a recuse inhaler. It's used to treat asthma."

"But you can't serve in the Armed Forces if you have asthma," Abby said, gesturing with the bag that held the inhaler.

"I know that, Abbs," Tony said.

"So why did she have it?" Abby asked again.

"I don't know, Abbs, that's why I gave it to you." Tony said giving her a look.

Abby blinked and nodded. "Oh, right."

"I could look up her medical records, see what it has on there," Palmer offered.

"I'll come with you," Tony said, following the Assistant Medical Examiner out of the lab.

"Sorry about that, Albert," Abby said, scribbling her name on the bag for the inhaler, "but duty calls. You are more than welcome to stick-"

She looked up but she was alone in her lab.

* * *

"How are you holding up?" Tony asked as he hit the button to the morgue.

"Fine," Palmer said. Tony looked at him. Palmer sighed. "A little less than fine…I'm a worried that Doctor Mallard is…"

"Biting off more than he can chew?" Tony finished.

Palmer heaved a huge sigh. "…Yeah. And I know that Doctor Mallard can take care of himself but…I don't know. I, I just don't like it."

The elevator dinged signaling it reached their destination. "I know, Palmer, I know."

They stepped out of the elevator and into autopsy to see Ducky directing Gibbs's attention to specific points about the body.

Tony stopped, tilted his head to the side, blinking in confusion as he realized that Ducky wasn't speaking English. "Is that Russian?"

"да," Gibbs said his attention still mostly on something in the chest cavity that Ducky was explaining.

"O-kay…why is Ducky speaking Russian?" Tony asked.

Gibbs and Ducky stopped what they were doing, trading exasperated looks with each other.

"Doctor Mallard said it would help give him a convincing Russian accent," Palmer explained. "By speaking Russian he said he would get an appreciation for how the accent would occur in a native Russian speaker."

"Ah, hell, Ducky you don't need to go through all that! Just say 'Nuclear Wessels' a few dozen times and claim everything was invented in 'Wassia'." Tony said with a huge smile.

Gibbs and Ducky turned in sync to glare at Tony, the senior field agent's smile dropping quickly. Even though the glares weren't directed at him, Palmer fidgeted nervously. "Perhaps I should have said ' _naturally_ occur in a native speaker'."

"да, Palmer," Gibbs said nodding to Ducky who continued to explain in Russian what Gibbs was looking at.

"I have no clue what he's saying," Tony muttered loudly.

"Uh, well," Palmer said, coming up from behind Tony. "As you can see from her X-rays she has multiple fractures and broken bones, most of them in her arms, chest and neck. Ah, as you can see here," Palmer moved to the table waving his finger over her forehead, "She has a massive indent here on her skull from where her head collided with her forearm."

"She did a swan dive?" Tony asked, his eyes flickering over to Ducky chatting away in Russian.

"Well, more like a forward dive," Palmer corrected, "Cause of death is blunt force trauma to the head, and even if the head wound hadn't killed her, the broken neck would have as it severed her spinal cord."

Tony pulled a face. "That does not sound pleasant."

"Well, death would have been instantaneous," Palmer said, "So it didn't hurt."

"Doesn't mean it was pleasant," Tony pointed out. "Any signs of asthma?"

"Interesting you should mention that, DiNo-" Ducky stopped then sighed.

Gibbs gave a small smile as Ducky pulled out his wallet and handed Gibbs a twenty dollar bill.

"Забавно, что вы это заметили," Ducky corrected, pointing at the woman's chest cavity. "Обратите внимание на форму ее легких. Уверен, что у нее была астма."

"Uh, I'm not sure what that means but, uh," Palmer said, "if you look here, there are signs of repeated swelling of her airways which could be a sign of COPD such as," Palmer paused for dramatic effect, "asthma. And if we check her medical file…"

Ducky must have said something to that affect as he handed Palmer a folder. "Ensign Jones claimed that she hadn't had an asthma attack since she was fifteen and has a medical waiver claiming she was clear for active duty. Which is weird, with the amount swelling she would have been having attacks fairly recently."

"So she was lying?" Tony asked, "Would have been risking a dishonorable discharge."

"Отличная работа, Даки, продолжай." Gibbs said, walking out of the morgue.

Tony looked after Gibbs and turned back to Ducky and Palmer, walking backwards out of the room. "Good job, guys! And remember Ducky: Nuclear Wessels!"

Palmer chuckled only to stop as he noticed Ducky's dark look.

* * *

"Boss, I don't know about this," Tony said as they took the elevator back up to the bullpen.

"About what?" Gibbs asked.

"Ducky going undercover," Tony said, "Whatever DeForest needed Kuryakin for can't be good. And having Ducky go in alone-"

"Who says he's going in alone?" Gibbs asked.

"I know that we're going to be there in the van but-" Tony stopped as he saw the _look_. "We're not going to be in the van?"

"No, you will be with Ziva on the roof," Gibbs said.

"Where will _you_ be?"

"With Ducky," Gibbs said as the elevator dinged and the doors opened.

"Really?" Tony said following Gibbs.

They entered the bullpen just as Ms. Dancer returned making her way to a waiting Vance and Fornell.

"Have you notified Homeland Security?" Vance demanded when she was close enough.

"I think we have enough of the alphabet here, don't you?" Fornell said.

"Agreed," Dancer said. "Unless you're saying NCIS isn't up to the challenge…"

"No, I'm saying they get cranky when they get left out," Vance said, "I'll let them know to forward their complaints to the CIA and FBI if they ever find out."

"Nothing but a bunch of sissies," Tony agreed.

"No one asked you, Agent DiNozzo," Vance pointed out sharply; he turned his attention back to Dancer. "You got your intel ready?"

She leveled a look at him. "Would I be here if I didn't?"

"As soon as Ducky's done with his autopsy you can brief us," Gibbs said.

"'Brief us'?" Dancer repeated. "What makes you think you're invited?"

"Who else are you going to get to play Solo?" Gibbs asked.

Dancer gave a quick, honest laugh. "No."

"What?" Gibbs demanded causing his team to slowly back away and trade nervous looks with each other.

"First of all, Agent Gibbs, you aren't old enough. Second, you're too tall. Third your face, while similar, won't fool someone expecting him. And finally," Dancer looked Gibbs up and down, "no."

"No what?" Fornell asked, torn between amused and indignant on Gibbs's behave.

Dancer gestured to Gibbs. "No, Gibbs is a Marine; Solo was Army. Gibbs would be spotted in a heartbeat."

"I'm not letting Doctor Mallard go in alone," Gibbs growled.

"I could go," Fornell offered.

"You'd be spotted even quicker," Dancer assured. She turned to Vance. "And I don't think you should try volunteering."

"Wasn't going to," Vance said. "But I agree with Gibbs, you get somebody to go with Doctor Mallard or he's not going."

"Well with a scheme this… zany how hard would it be to get the REAL Solo to go?" Ziva asked. "Surely he would go for it, yes?"

" _ **Comrade Kuryakin," The bigwig said, dropping a loaded gun onto the desk. "Shoot that man."**_

_**Kuryakin picked up the gun, pointing it at the tied up man. His eyes widened as a KGB pulled the hood off. "Napoleon…"** _

_**Gibbs shot Jenny a warning glance. They couldn't interfere.** _

_**Solo looked around the room and eyed the gun in Kuryakin's hands warily. "I see…"** _

_**Solo gave Kuryakin a small, reassuring smile and closed his eyes.** _

_**Gibbs didn't dare look away as Kuryakin leveled the gun to Solo's head.** _

"If I could get the real Solo, we wouldn't be having this conversation," Dancer said.

"I'll do it."

Everyone twisted to look at Albert hovering just outside of the bullpen by McGee's desk.

"Absolutely not," Vance said.

"I agree," Fornell said. "Bad enough we have an eighty-year-old Medical Examiner playing spy; we are not including a civilian."

"Gibbs?" Albert said.

Gibbs shrugged. "Not my call."

"Uh, Agent Dancer?" A blond haired man with a Liverpool accent said, handing her a manila envelope.

"Thank you," She said, and the man nodded and walked back to the elevator. "I had my people make some documents for Doctor Mallard."

Gibbs pulled out his knife and held out a hand. Dancer held out her hand expectantly and Gibbs handed her his knife handle first.

"Looks like someone needs to learn Rule Nine," McGee said with a smirk as Dancer slit open the envelope.

Dancer ignored the comment, closed the knife and dropped it onto Gibbs's desk. She up ended the envelope dropping a red passport into her hand, but a blue one fell past and onto the ground. Fornell bent over and picked it up before a mildly surprised Dancer could. He flipped it open to see Albert smiling out at him with the name "Napoleon Solo" stamped to the right of the picture.

"When were you planning on telling us?" Fornell asked, flipping it around for the others to see.

Dancer blinked then scowled, snatching the passport from Fornell. "You forget who has jurisdiction over this affair. My jurisdiction, my case, my lead."

"Rule 38," Gibbs said picking up his phone. He ignored Vance's suspicious look and dialed down to autopsy. "Palmer, send him up."

"You still could have told us," Fornell protested. "What were you going to do if Albert hadn't volunteered?"

"I'm sure she would have thought of something," Vance said with acid. "Seeing as our opinion doesn't matter."

"It matters," Dancer assured them. "What about Joint Base Anacostia-Bolling?"

"Ziva," Vance said without turning around.

"They have had a security team sweeping the base. No signs of any bombs or gas canisters of any kind. We have swabs of their air vents getting tested as we speak."

"Ensign Jones's apartment was clean," Tony added. "Only thing we found was an inhaler, which is also down in Abby's lab."

"Uh, she was part of team looking into finding potential weaknesses in Naval bases for this kind of thing," McGee said. "Her teammates say she's been acting jumpy the last few months but I didn't find any suspicious activities in her accounts."

"Well she went from jump- _y_ to jump- _ing_ , so she must have known something to make that happen," Tony said.

"Who had access to her files?" Gibbs asked.

"Her teammates and he CO," McGee said, "Running background on them now, Boss."

"We are also trying to contact her boyfriend, a Michael Bufferton, but no luck so far," Ziva added.

"Okay, what about Agent DeForest?" Dancer asked looking at Fornell.

"She's being taken care of," Fornell assured causing Gibbs's team to trade questioning glances.

"And…" Dancer asked gently.

"Also being taken care of," Fornell replied just as gently causing even _more_ questioning glances.

Before anyone could ask Ducky came into view and Dancer moved to greet him, motioning to the conference room and he and Albert walked with her.

"Illya Kuryakin," She said, handing him the red Russian passport without breaking her stride. Dancer then handed Albert the blue passport. "Meet Napoleon Solo."

Ducky looked surprised but pleased at the turn of events.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special Thanks to the Nifty Cat on Tumblr who translated Gibbs and Ducky's Russian for me.
> 
> Sorry about the lack of post last week but my computer has been saved and the files are now backed up somewhere that even if my computer dies again there won't been anymore disruptions. See you soon.


	8. Almost Familiar

_Gibbs laughed as he helped the older man to his feet._

Vance and Fornell were just finishing up briefing Gibbs and Fornell's team when Dancer led the two back to the bullpen.

"…if there are any signs of the gas, you are to call it in immediately and if you are able: secure it. Are there any questions?" Vance asked turning to the field agents.

"I've got one," Tony said eyeing the ME, "Is Ducky still speaking Russian?"

Ziva gave a gasp. "I missed Ducky speaking Russian?"

"Why was he speaking Russian?" McGee asked clearly intrigued.

"To give himself an accent," Tony explained laying a hand on Ducky's shoulder. "Which I told him all he needs to say is 'Nuclear Wessels'."

Ducky pointedly looked at Tony's hand and followed it up to his face, who was grinning _unrepentantly_.

"Kuryakin once broke a man's nose when they tried to get him to say 'Moose and Squirrel'," Dancer casually said, "So if you want to break his wrist, it's well within character."

Tony looked at Ducky, who was grinning darkly as though the doctor was honestly considering it. Tony snatched his hand away; instinctively wiggling his fingers to make sure nothing was broken.

"Are there any _real_ questions?" Vance asked.

"We sure they're going to be there tonight?" Gibbs asked.

"I can't think why they wouldn't be, Jethro," Fornell said, "They've been there every night for at least the past three weeks."

"Why the Washington Monument?" FBI Agent Mulgrew asked.

"It's within walking distance of Gangplank Marina," Ducky said. The hours he spent speaking only Russian had paid off, his words had a rounded tone to them, not the heavy cartoon like accent that Tony had been championing but a softer, distinctly Russian pronunciation.

"Guess that answers your question, Tony," McGee muttered.

"Damn," Ziva muttered.

"What's the significance of that?" Fornell asked.

"The terrorist from our case preferred living on a boat to dry land. Harder to extradite that way," Dancer explained.

"Alright," Vance said, "if there are no more questions-"

"Oh, I've got one!" Abby said, bouncing over to the group. "I mean it's not a question, it's more like an answer, so I figured that you might want to know about it since you guys did ask-"

"Miss Sciuto," Vance said.

"Right, so I ran all the swabs of the air vents of the base and besides needing to look into new air filters they're clean. No residue of any chemicals of any kind. _However_ , in Ensign Jones's inhaler," Abby handed over her results to Gibbs, "besides the Albuterol I found traces of chlorasine and picric acid in it. Oh and I did in fact find diphenyl sulfide in her blood. Our girl was definitely getting poisoned."

"What a way to go, done in by the Scarecrow's fear gas," Tony said.

"We don't have to worry about other inhalers, I checked the expiration date was like years ago but other than the poison, it was fine. Also I pulled a print off of it that didn't belong to Ensign Jones." Abby bounced a little. "Aren't you going to ask me whose finger print it is?"

"Whose finger print is it?" Gibbs asked rhetorically.

"Her boyfriend, Michael Bufferton."

"Anything else, Miss Sciuto?" Vance asked.

"Yes," Abby turned to Albert and Ducky. "What you are doing is very brave and I also think it's very stupid that they're asking you to do it. So Ducky and Albert please-"

Albert held up a hand. "I'm sorry, miss, but I think you have us confused for someone else. My name is Napoleon Solo and this is my friend, Illya Kuryakin."

Abby bounced a little before she hugged them both. "Fine, I don't care who you are: just come back safely."

Gibbs smiled as he watched the two men hugged her back.

* * *

The sunset was just about finished when Solo ducked back into car holding out a bag to show Kuryakin.

"This does not count as my birthday dinner," Kuryakin told him.

"Of course not," Solo assured him digging through the bag. "I forget which one she said had the mustard on it…"

Kuryakin rolled his eyes and took the sandwich that Solo handed him.

* * *

 Gibbs sat in the truck, eyes on the recording equipment, the Washington Monument jumped slightly as Ducky pushed his glasses back up.

" _How worried should I be?"_ Ducky asked as he unwrapped his sandwich.

Gibbs stopped McGee from answering in time as Albert responded. " _About what?"_

" _About, you: volunteering."_

" _Not very."_

The view panned right as Ducky turned to Albert, Gibbs easily imaging the skeptical look that Ducky must be giving his cousin; he'd leveled it at Gibbs enough times.

* * *

Solo rolled his eyes at the look Kuryakin was giving him. "Really, Illya, I'm fine."

"'I'm fine' he says, after weeks of being 'busy'," Kuryakin said out loud before he took a bite of his sandwich.

"Well, I'm not the one who was accused of treason," Solo pointed out, as he took a bite as well.

"It wasn't treason, it was espionage," Kuryakin corrected, handing the mustard covered sandwich to Solo.

"My mistake," Solo said, handing the plain sandwich over and taking the correct one. "Then again I'm not the one who's making a habit of having a gun pointed at him once a year."

"It hasn't been once a year," Kuryakin said, taking another bite.

"Nooo, you're right," Solo conceded, "there was the time you got kidnapped and they were draining your blood when you were recused."

"You've been reading my reports," Kuryakin accused.

Solo nodded. "And the other relevant ones. They _are_ public files after all."

"Meanwhile, I've been left in the dark as to what you've been up to." Kuryakin sighed, "I worry that's all."

" _You_ worry?" Solo asked.

"Yes," Kuryakin said. "Sometimes I'm reminded of Albert-"

"Napoleon," Solo corrected sharply.

" _Of_ Albert," Kuryakin insisted, "you remember him? The gentleman who was asked to impersonate that French assassin? What was his last name?"

"Albert Sully, who then proceed to make our lives more difficult than they needed to be."

"Yes, him." Kuryakin leveled another look at Solo.

"I am _fine_ , I am not _that_ bored. Also I have people who watch my back," Solo reminded. "Enough that they helped me acquire a few pictures."

"But you are bored?" Kuryakin asked.

"I didn't mean to give you the impression that I'm bored all of the time."

"You dropped everything to come with me," Kuryakin pointed out.

"I wasn't doing anything. Besides I could have been four years in a deep cover assignment and I still would have dropped everything to help you."

"Be that as it may," Kuryakin said, "I was, technically, out of trouble when you volunteered."

"Illya, you weren't out of the woods. Besides you volunteered, too," Solo pointed out.

"Well of course _I_ did-"

"So you're allowed to put your life on the line and I'm not?"

"That's not what I meant."

"Yes, it is. But I'll give you this, Illya, you'll know that my boredom has gotten the better of me when I'm with Angelique and I haven't seen her for months."

Kuryakin sat up in alarm. "Months?!"

Solo froze. "Uh…"

"What do you mean ' _months'_?" Kuryakin demanded.

"Well…you did say that we made a cute couple," Solo pointed out.

Kuryakin narrowed his eyes at Solo. "We both know that-"

* * *

Dancer gently pushed McGee out of her way and spoke clearly into the microphone.

"Gentlemen, Channel D is open," she told them.

* * *

The two stopped bickering; both of them running through their conversation to see if they let anything classified or personal slip.

"Well, Illya, you were right about forgetting about the earwigs after a while," Solo said, turning his attention back to the world beyond the windshield.

"It helps that no one has been chiming in," Kuryakin agreed, following Solo's lead.

The two sat in silence for a moment.

"We will talk about this later," Kuryakin said, without turning his gaze from the windshield.

"I thought as much," Solo replied his eyes also forward. "When exactly did you start the sound check?"

* * *

"When you came back with dinner; so we heard pretty much all of it," Tony admitted from where he was spotting for Ziva.

"I for one find it very sweet that you would throw an opt for Ducky," Ziva told them without shifting her attention from her scope.

* * *

Solo nodded, wrapping his uneaten half a sandwich back up. "Good to know."

* * *

"I'll save the forty-five minute lecture until you two are back," Dancer promised.

" _Thank you,"_ Ducky said.

"Accent's slipping, _Mr_. Kuryakin," Gibbs told Ducky.

* * *

"спасибо," Kuryakin said, than sat up a little straighter, he gently nudged Solo's arm and pointed out the window at two men escorting an old lady, all of whom clearly didn't belong loitering in the park. "Gibbs."

* * *

 "We see 'em," Gibbs said.

"Wait for my cue," Dancer ordered. "Are the other teams in place?"

"Affirmative," McGee said.

"Team Defiant, move in, Solo, Kuryakin, count to thirty then move."

* * *

"один, два, три, четыре, пять…"

"Copy," Solo said, pulling the suitcase onto his lap.

* * *

"Archangel, anything happens to those two I will cast you to Hell myself, am I clear?" Dancer said.

" _Overly dramatic,"_ Tony replied, " _but clear."_

"I'll help," Gibbs promised.

" _Terrifyingly clear,"_ Tony corrected.

"Good," Dancer said. "Team Intrepid, keep your eyes out for our boat."

" _Copy,"_ Fornell radioed back.

* * *

"…тридцать," Kuryakin finished nodding at his partner.

"Making contact," Solo said, opening his door.

The two walked into the park and both could feel Ziva's scope following them. As they approached the small group the two men with the woman tensed but she held up her hand to stop them. She looked Kuryakin and Solo over with shew eyes.

"I must admit, I'm surprised you both lived this long," she said.

"As am I," Kuryakin agreed.

The years had left their mark on the woman, not enough to truly rob her of her beauty but enough that a younger man like Tony couldn't appreciate it. Her hair was a short and feathery, aged-dyed gray to the point that it was impossible to tell what it had been. But the years hadn't been enough to steal the calculating look from her eyes.

She noticed their studious gazes. "You don't remember me, do you?"

Kuryakin hesitated but Solo did not.

"Gervaise Ravel, one of the four masterminds behind several nefarious schemes" Solo said with a roll of the tongue. He smirked, "You used to throw one _hell_ of a party."

"You _would_ remember that," Kuryakin muttered.

"Gentlemen you are looking at the _only_ mastermind left," Ravel said.

* * *

"Wonder what happened to the others," Tony muttered.

* * *

"If I recall correctly," Solo said, "It's been that way for years."

"Yes, you killed two of them when you blew up their base in Yugoslavia," Kuryakin noted, more for others' benefit than anything else.

Solo gave a nod. "And you killed the last one saving a hostage in Spain."

"Mexico," Kuryakin corrected.

Solo looked at Kuryakin and Kuryakin leveled a look at him right back.

"I'm glad we made an impression at least," Ravel said.

They turned their attention back to Ravel, the argument on hold for the moment.

"If this is a case of revenge, five decades is a bit excessive to wait, is it not?" Kuryakin asked.

"And a million dollars a fairly low sum," Solo added.

"The money is not the end goal," Ravel assured. "I honestly have no need for it, especially as I'm sure you two have marked it somehow."

Solo frowned. "Then why did you-"

"Us," Kuryakin answered, "You were getting _our_ attention."

"I knew that the moment the gas was released they'd drag whatever was left of you out of retirement," Ravel tilted her head back. "So I made sure it was on my terms. My own Giuoco Piano gambit if you will."

"Why now?" Solo asked.

"You didn't stop me, but you did delay me." Ravel said, "Quite a bit."

"I see, it took you this long to recreate the gas," Kuryakin said.

"Among other things," Ravel said.

"Well that puts the years I spent honing my poker skills to shame," Solo said.

"Especially since I beat you on a regular basis," Kuryakin agreed.

"Rub it in, Illya."

"You still owe me twenty dollars," Kuryakin reminded him.

"Which is why the sandwiches were on your tab," Solo said.

Their ear pieces barked with a stifled laugh.

"Why do I get the feeling someone, somewhere is laughing at me," Kuryakin groused.

* * *

McGee flinched. "Sorry, Ducky."

Dancer reached up to her ear piece, pushing it tight to her ear. She smiled, pushing McGee out of the way.

"All teams, objective B has been achieved. I repeat: objective B has been achieved. Fornell, if you've found that boat take it now. Kuryakin, Solo, any help you two can get us on objective A will be greatly appreciated, if not, at the very least stall them. "

* * *

"So you've been making gas and I've been playing poker," Solo said. "What about you, Illya?"

"I got a degree in criminal psychology," Kuryakin said. "If I remember correctly, the man I killed in Mexico-"

"Spain," Solo corrected.

"-in Mexico," Kuryakin insisted.

"No, it was Spain," Solo said, "I remember the flight there-"

"No, we were only gone for four days; it had to have been Mexico-"

"-the stall owner was proud because the locket I bought-"

"-I remember there was festival because I was wearing-"

"-the houses were-"

"-it was the Day of the Dead-"

" _Puerto Rico_ ," Ravel said sharply.

Kuryakin and Solo broke off their argument to look at her.

"It was Puerto Rico," Ravel said, "In the mountain range a few miles from Boridqua, a town that no longer exists, where you killed Harold."

The two glanced at each other and Solo tilted his head to the side conceding the point to Ravel.

Kuryakin nodded in agreement and turned his attention back to Ravel. "Yes, Harold Bufferton, who I believe was also your lover, hence your clear recollection. And also grandfather to Michael Bufferton."

One of the men behind Ravel shifted.

"Don't be too surprised, you have his name and you're not old enough to be his son," Kuryakin said. "What was it that you do for a living again?"

* * *

McGee tapped on his laptop. "Michael Bufferton, works for Cradle…"

* * *

"…Pharmaceutical, isn't it?" Kuryakin said, "In the research lab, where you were able to get the materials you need to create the gas. Dating someone who was looking for the very weaknesses that you needed was either very serendipitous or carefully planned. I'll go with planned since she had asthma. Ensign Jones must have been relieved that you supplied her with inhalers under the table. Tell me: did you start giving her the gas to study its effects or because she realized that you were hiding the gas at your job?"

"It doesn't really matter," Bufferton said, nudging the man to his left and they both pulled out their guns flanking Kuryakin and Solo. "You won't get to tell anyone what you've figured out."

The older men raised their hands slightly.

* * *

"Archangel to Dancer, I do not have a clear shot!" Ziva snapped. "Repeat, I do not have a clear shot!"

"Confirmed," Tony repeated. "Shot has been lost!"

* * *

"Fornell, give me two of your people!" Dancer turned to the men next to her, "Gibbs, McGee, Get Out There!"

Gibbs was halfway out the door when she was talking to Fornell and McGee started to detangle himself from his headset at Dancer's order.

* * *

"I already did," Kuryakin told Bufferton.

Bufferton cocked his head to the side and Kuryakin snapped forward, slapping his right hand against the inside of Bufferton's wrist while with his left hand he twisted the gun out of Bufferton's grip before pointing Bufferton's own gun at him.

Bufferton took a startled step back as he tried to figure out how Kuryakin had taken his gun in less than three seconds.

* * *

"Whoa!" McGee said his eyes on Ducky's screen.

"MCGEE!" Gibbs shouted.

McGee jumped and ran after his boss.

* * *

The same time Kuryakin moved Solo turned to the side, grabbing his assailant's wrist and pushed the gun away from himself and Kuryakin. Solo used the momentum from the thrust to throw his assailant to the ground pulling the gun from his grip and pointing it at his assailant's head with Solo's knee firmly in his, former, assailant's back.

"Holy-!" Tony pulled away from his scope to look at the figures in the distance.

"I have a shot on the guy on Ducky!" Ziva exclaimed.

* * *

Kuryakin leveled the gun at Ravel. "I do believe you've lost."

Bufferton hesitated for a second then tried to rush Kuryakin. He made it two steps before he jerked back, gripping his shoulder as he fell to the ground.

"Thank you, Archangel," Kuryakin said, stopping Ravel from going to Bufferton's side.

* * *

"Anytime, Ducky," Ziva said, training her gun onto Ravel.

* * *

"I suppose this means you don't care what happens to Miss DeForest's son?" Ravel asked.

"He was saved about five minutes ago," Gibbs said his Glock leveled at Ravel as well. "NCIS, hands behind your back."

Ravel glared at Kuryakin as Gibbs cuffed her. "I got her, Duck, you take care of him."

"Very well, Jethro," Ducky said, Kuryakin's accent stubbornly clinging to his words. He gave Bufferton's gun to Gibbs before kneeling down to look at the gunshot wound. "Good shot, Ziva. He won't die but he'll need a lot of therapy."

"He can get it in prison," Gibbs said. "Dancer, we need an ambulance."

McGee arrived just as Fornell and Agent Mulgrew did. Fornell and Mulgrew took Ravel off of Gibbs and Gibbs joined McGee at the other guy.

"I got him," McGee said, leveling his Glock at the guy on the ground.

"That's good," Albert said, lowering the gun but not moving off of the guy.

"That means you can get up," McGee clarified.

"I would… except…"

"You're stuck?" Gibbs asked.

"Help," Albert said, raising the hand without the gun for someone to grab. Gibbs laughed as he helped the older man to his feet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disarming techniques found on various YouTube Accounts, Ducky's in particular was Krav Maga Training: Fastest Gun Disarm Technique


	9. The Past is Laid to Rest

_What mattered was that Ducky was happy and content surrounded by friends that cared so much about him._

"Gervaise Ravel," Dancer said, pacing the length of Vance's conference table behind Ducky, Gibbs, Fornell and Albert. "The last surviving member of a terrorist cell who planned to overthrow several world governments. She was sentenced to death by Guillotine by the French government only to be granted a stay of execution because she was with child at the time. During those eight months, she had a lawyer get her down to twenty years in prison; she only served five, and has been living as Jennifer Bufferton for most of her life since."

"Until she threw it all away with this scheme," Vance said.

"Not quite," Dancer pulled up a file. "Interpol has a long record on her identity as Bufferton. She was always up to her old tricks. This was her attempt to get rid of the two men who ruined her before they could again."

"Self-fulfilling prophecy," Fornell said. "Kidnapped DeForest's kid to make her look into Kuryakin and Solo since the FBI would have the resources only to be thwarted meeting the two men she planned to kill."

"Almost," Gibbs corrected.

Fornell rolled his eyes. "Right, only to thwarted meeting two men she _thought_ were Kuryakin and Solo."

"Glad we could help," Albert said.

"Did she ever say why she had her grandson poison Ensign Jones?" Ducky asked.

"No, but your theory about him testing the gas was spot on," Dancer said. "We found his notes on his computer on the effects of long term small dose exposure on his computer. And with that, we've come to the end of where all of your clearance gets you. Agent Gibbs, Agent Fornell, Doctor Mallard and Mr. Stroller, thank you for your time and hard work. You are now free to go."

The group stood, Fornell putting a hand on Albert's elbow to help him to his feet.

"You never did mention," Gibbs said to Fornell as they all walked down the stairs, "what's going to happen to Agent DeForest."

"They've scheduled an inquiry. If she's lucky, only her career with the FBI is over," Fornell said, "I have a bigger problem. I need to figure out where to spend my vacation, curtsy of my higher ups. Any ideas?"

Gibbs opened his mouth.

"And if you say 'Mexico'…" Fornell warned.

Gibbs gave a smile and shrugged.

* * *

"No way," Tony declared perched on McGee's desk.

"What do you mean 'no way'?" McGee demanded.

"Exactly what that means, Tim. No way Ducky snatched a gun from some guy's hand."

"I have to agree with Tony," Ziva said from her desk with a note of apology.

"I believed you guys about Albert!"

"Because the man was holding a gun to his attacker!" Ziva pointed out.

"So was Ducky!"

"Not when you got there," Tony said.

"Excuse me," A black gentleman with a British accent said. "I'm looking for Albert Stroller. He called and asked him to pick him up. Is he in trouble?"

"No, but do you know where he learned to throw a guy to the ground and disarm him at the same time?" Tony asked.

"What?" the man asked in alarmed confusion.

"I'll take that as a 'no'," Tony said.

"It would have been more impressive if he was able to stand afterwards, anyways," Ziva said.

"What?" the man asked again.

"…I know a few guys." Albert said as the group made their way to the bullpen.

"Yeah, but London? This time of year?" Fornell asked.

"It is beautiful," Albert assured.

"I fully agree," Ducky said, "but I admit some bias. I remember one time I while I was at Cambridge-"

"Why were you throwing an armed man to the ground?" The man asked looking Albert in the eye.

Albert raised his hands in confusion. Gibbs looked at his team.

"We might have asked him where Albert learned that?" Tony asked.

Albert rolled his eyes. "Mickey, you do remember that I was Army? Also do you have any Tylenol?"

"From the dark ages!" Mickey exclaimed, patting his pockets before he shook his head 'no'.

"Ducky, where did you learn your…?" McGee pantomimed taking a gun.

"Jason Bourne gun taking technique?" Tony offered.

"I did no such thing," Ducky said, sounding affronted.

"Duck," Gibbs said.

"I did know a gentleman," Ducky relented, "back when I was stationed in Middle East who did know multiple ways to disarm someone safely. Yes, he used to show off quite a bit to the point that many of the younger men tried to do." Ducky winced and shook his head. "Let's just say, not everyone could do it properly. _Especially_ when alcohol became involved."

"Speaking of alcohol," Palmer said walking up with Abby.

"We decided that since you missed your real birthday, we'd take you out tonight!" Abby finished with a bounce, hugging Ducky, "And the only places open this late are bars!"

"Ah, that sounds splendid." Ducky said as they broke the hug. "Oh, Albert, Tony offered to buy our drinks!"

"Oh, that works much better than Tylenol! Thank you, Tony," Albert said in good cheer.

"I can't believe he remembered that," Tony marveled.

"Tony, you told him that _yesterday_ ," McGee pointed out.

"Really? Seems so long ago…"

"Nobody's going anywhere until they finish their reports and give them to Miss Dancer," Gibbs said watching Dancer make her way down the stairs. Gibbs's phone rang and he picked it up.

"Guess that's my cue to leave," Fornell said and turned to Ducky. "I'll try to make it but if I don't: Happy Birthday."

"Thank you," Ducky said and they shook hands before Fornell made his way to the elevator nodding at Dancer as he left.

Tony sauntered over and looked at Dancer in the eye. "Can't I just give you a piece of paper covered in black rectangles? I mean that is what it's going to look like after you get done with it."

"Agent DiNozzo," Dancer said. "I want to go home and you have a birthday party to get to."

"Right," Tony retreated to his desk.

"Um, are we stuck here until they finish their reports?" Palmer asked Gibbs.

"Yeah, cause we did ours while you guys were-"

"Abby," Gibbs warned.

Abby rocked on her heels. "…selling insurance?"

Mickey glared at Albert. "I thought you were helping an old friend."

"He was," Ducky said. "Umm, Gibbs."

Gibbs waved them off. "Give Dancer your reports and go."

"Uh, they're down stairs," Palmer said, leading the way back to elevator to the labs, Dancer keeping pace with Albert.

"Mr. Stroller," Dancer said, causing Albert to look over at her. "Never do that again."

Albert nodded, with a smile and gave her the gesture for 'okay'.

"Do I want to know what you've been doing?" Mickey asked.

Ducky and Albert looked at each other.

"No," they said in unison.

* * *

Gibbs walked into Vance's office and stood in front of his desk. "You wanted to see me, Leon?"

Vance didn't look up from the file he was reading over. "Yes, please give this to Doctor Mallard when you see him."

Vance scribbled his signature on the line, closed the folder and held it out to Gibbs.

"You could do it yourself, we're all heading to the bar for a late birthday party," Gibbs offered.

"I would but I'm now stuck going to a meeting with the CIA and FBI over this whole affair," Vance said with an edge in his voice. Gibbs tilted his head to the side in acknowledgment and grabbed the folder pausing when Vance didn't let go. Vance looked him hard in the eye. "If you ever go behind my back like that again, I'll have your badge."

"With what?" Gibbs asked.

"Don't play dumb with me; Dancer was just as surprised as anyone that there were two passports in that folder and you didn't protest Mr. Stroller going on that mission. In fact, he turned to you for help to get him to go."

Gibbs gave an easy smile. "Leon, if that was me, it would have been my picture on that passport not his."

Vance let go of the folder. "Fair enough, but you do have a theory as to who did it."

" _ **Uh, Agent Dancer?" A blond haired man with a Liverpool accent said, handing her a manila envelope.**_

" _ **Thank you," She said taking the package.**_

_**The man's eyes flickered past her for a moment and Albert gave a deliberate wink that went unnoticed by most as their attention was on Dancer. The blond man, who wasn't CIA, nodded and walked back to the elevator.** _

Gibbs shrugged as he walked out of the room. "I don't know, Leon, maybe it was his Uncle?"

* * *

By the time Gibbs walked into the bar, Palmer was in the middle of hijacking the jukebox, selecting the jazziest songs that it had to offer. Abby spotted him first waving him over to the table with both hands over her head chanting "Gibbs! Gibbs! Gibbs!"

Gibbs smiled, easily navigating through the slowly filling tables. Gibbs patted Mickey playing darts as he passed and pretended not to notice the blond haired man he was playing against. DiNozzo had picked a good spot; the table was easily defensible, with plenty of escape routes and eyes on both doors.

McGee grabbed a chair for him placing it next to Ducky who was laughing with everyone as Albert told a story.

"What I miss?" Gibbs asked, sinking into his seat with a nod of thanks to McGee.

"Ducky getting hit by a door," Tony chuckled as Palmer returned and sat next to him.

"Three times!" Albert corrected. "She hit him three times!"

Ducky got his laughter under control. "To be fair, my back was to the door two during two of them."

"So she hit you in the face once?" Ziva asked.

"He was going to get the door when she opened it hard enough to knock him on the couch," Albert explained, "and just looks at our client and says… 'Your wife is here.'"

Ducky laughed, shaking his head as he looked at Gibbs. "What took you so long, Jethro?"

"Just getting this from Director Vance," Gibbs said, handing the envelope Leon gave him to Ducky. "Your clearance has been reinstated."

"Ah, thank you Jethro, though I suppose this means it's back to work tomorrow. Shame, I could have used a few days off," Ducky lamented.

"Better going to work then being charged with espionage," McGee pointed out as he stood, gesturing with his empty bottle that he was getting another drink.

"Would have never gotten that far," Gibbs promised.

"See, what did I tell you, Palmer?" Tony threw a casual arm around the Assistant ME's shoulders. "Gibbs would know if Ducky had a deep dark secret like being a Russian spy!"

"Didn't know Anthony? I was!" Ducky said with a smile.

"Yeah, for an evening," Tony pointed out. "That doesn't count. I meant, being a Russian spy for real. Because let's face it Ducky, there is no way you could hide _that_ from Gibbs!"

"No, I suppose not," Ducky said, catching Gibbs's eye.

Gibbs smiled at Ducky knowing they were thinking about the same thing.

_**Gibbs didn't dare look away as Kuryakin leveled the gun to Solo's head.** _

_**Kuryakin hesitated, his eyes clearly looking for some way out of the situation and finding none.** _

_**His hesitation was all the proof the KGB needed. Gibbs reached him before a real KGB agent could, removing the unfired pistol from unresisting fingers handing it back to Jenny. He improperly handcuffed Kuryakin as two KGB agents grabbed Solo.** _

_**The struggle in the hallway was brief, to be fair, it was four-on-four instead of the KGB's expected six-on-two.** _

_**Kuryakin was confused. "Why are you helping me?"** _

" _ **Rule one: Never screw over your partner."**_

_**Kuryakin's face softened and Solo rested a hand on his friend's shoulder.** _

_**The next time Gibbs had seen him years and a case later, Kuryakin held out his hand, "We were never properly introduced; I'm Doctor Donald Mallard, but my friends call me Ducky."** _

" _ **I'm your friend?" Gibbs asked, shaking his hand.**_

" _ **After what you did?" Kur-Ducky wasn't referring to the case they had just worked on, "most assuredly."**_

"Ironically enough," Ducky said, looking at his empty Scotch glass, "after this whole affair I'm actually in the mood for Vodka."

"You know what, Duck," Gibbs said, "So am I."

"Me too," Albert agreed.

Tony laughed. "Alright, alright, I get it. Next year I'll give you my stapler." Tony whistled at McGee across the bar. "Round of Vodka, Probie!"

McGee made his way over, a tray of drinks in his hands and everyone grabbed one.

"Happy, if a little late, Birthday, Doctor Mallard!" Jimmy said, holding up his glass.

Everyone echoed the statement and sentiment, but not the name. McGee and Ziva followed Palmer's example and called him Doctor Mallard while Tony, Abby and Gibbs called him Ducky. And Albert Stroller …

"Happy Birthday, tovarisch."

Well, what did it matter to Gibbs how the man who used to be Napoleon Solo wished the man who used to Illya Kuryakin "Happy Birthday"? What mattered was that Ducky was happy and content surrounded by friends that cared so much about him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for reading, I hope you all had fun reading this as I had fun writing it. Special thanks to my Dad who made sure that everyone stayed in character and fixing my computer even if I had to hound him non-stop.
> 
> The headcannon that Albert Stroller is Napoleon Solo came from Robert Vaughn. That one fact added so much to the feel of this story and I'm grateful for that.
> 
> Rest in Peace Mr. Vaughn, I hope you and Anne Francis enjoyed the fic where ever you are.

**Author's Note:**

> Citations: 
> 
> Tiger plush headcannon taken from napoleon and illya. tumblr. com
> 
> Birthday card: roses -and- teacups collections/ kimberly- shaw- tea- greeting- cards


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